


Cat-Mer-Men

by cancmbyn



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me By Your Name Fest December 2020
Genre: Alternate Universe - Call me by your name never happened; CoVid19 Pandemic, DO NOT POST ELSEWHERE, I have no idea how to tag...., M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancmbyn/pseuds/cancmbyn
Summary: Armie is stuck on Grand Cayman in summer 2020 but desperately needs to get off the island for personal and financial reasons.  Timmy is also there, recovering from a shock, but also considering returning home to the mainland for his own reasons.They meet and agree to travel via yacht to the USA.  It’s a road trip on the high seas.  Will it be a road trip from hell or a voyage to remember? 🧜🏻♂️🐠🤿⛵️
Relationships: Armie Hammer/Other(s), Elizabeth Chambers/Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet & Will Maxwell-Lunney, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 170
Kudos: 77
Collections: CMBYN December Fest 2020





	1. Prologue - Timmy & H20

**Author's Note:**

> Timmy during his childhood.

Timmy liked water. No, that’s not right. He loved water. All water. Salt water, fresh water. Water in his aquarium, where he - like a curious cat - could look through the window and see Yurtle his pet turtle floating and gracefully swimming around before taking up his usual place under the warmed branch.

He had a fabulous memory. One of his first memories was being in the bathroom sink, being bathed in the green sink playing with the bubbles. Watching the water slip splash over his legs. Creating waves by moving his legs in and out and up and down. Being able to spread his feet and legs out in the sink and still have lots of room to move around. He would never get sick of that feeling. The feeling of drops cascading down his back and chest. Even as the water got progressively colder; he wanted to stay there, enjoying the weightlessness of it. The gurgles of his coos and cries that echoed the sound of water moving in the sink and hearing the voice of his mom. The feeling of being content. Of being in exactly the right place in the right time, right then, right there, right now. The feeling of time and sensation merging as one. 

Later in life, when his Mom was in one of those moods reminiscing and showing him pictures as a baby, when she found that picture, he said, “I remember you taking that photo.” His mother said, “That’s impossible darling, you were too young.” But Timmy smiled wistfully and remembered seeing his feet before him and those feelings - even if his mom said that it was impossible. He was stubborn that way.

***** 

As a city boy, Timmy was carted off with his sister Pauline for “learn to swim” lessons at their local community centre from the ages of 6 to 9 years old. After he got used to having water in his eyes and ears, he took to the lessons - like a proverbial fish to water. 

He couldn’t believe how fast the time would go while his group had their turn in the pool. The one thing that he found pretty tedious all of the stuff about learning CPR and rescuing other people from drowning. Not that he wouldn’t rescue someone if he could, but he had a healthy sense of self-preservation. They started learning drills early with reaching others with floats, then moved onto throwing buoys and towing each other to the side of the pool, before moving onto resuscitation as part of CPR when he was 8 years old.

It was during the mouth-to-nose and mouth-to-mouth breathing, that Timmy felt perplexed. He was looking forward to being paired up with Audra - she of the brilliant blue eyes and fluffy curly blond hair. But _just his luck_ , he got paired up with the other scrawny kid in the class, Michael. 

At first, Timmy just felt stupid, having to blow air into the nose and mouth of another boy. But, as he looked into his eyes, and saw his long lashes, smooth dark skin around brown eyes shining with trust into his own - he decided that this wasn’t so bad, after all. 

He and Michael ended up being paired up permanently for that class and for the subsequent class. When Michael stopped coming to the swim lessons later that year, Timmy wondered where he had gone. To this day, the sting of chlorine in his nose could bring him back to those days in the pool.

*****

**East Hamptons 2006**

It was an unforgettable day, with the sun beating down on their slice of heaven. The sand had gotten so hot by 10:30 am, that everyone, even Tim’s Mom and aunt decided to wade in and out of the water to cool down. Tim was happy because his cousins had brought along some beach balls, goggles and floating toys. They played football on the beach, sweating up a storm before jumping in the water to bat around a beach ball. His aunt had brought along a portable boom box and they all had fun dancing and twisting around in the sun, flicking sand every which way. After a while, his cousins and sister got bored, Timmy managed to steal the goggles away from Pauline and have them all to himself. 

As he adjusted the straps to fit his face, Timmy bent over and put his face in the water. All of a sudden, he could see everything clearer and all of the heat and haze of the day seemed to vanish. There was seaweed floating in the distance waving and beckoning to him. He felt the coolness of the sand between his toes and watched his feet run into pebbles and rocks and _was that a sand dollar over there_ ? _Yes...oh and there was a small shell_. There was so much to see.

Timmy floated on the surface for hours. Now and then, he looked up and waved over to his extended family - remembering that he had to keep within sight of the beach. But his mom and her sister were deep in conversation, occasionally snacking on marshmallows ( _they had better leave some for him_ ). Pauline was reading one of her interminable French novels. And if it wasn’t a novel, he knew that she had a bunch of glossy magazines with her. Timmy continued on with his floating.

He twisted and turned from side to side and did some forward and backward somersaults. Timmy had recently discovered that if he blew out of his nose while pushing his ass over tea kettle, it didn’t hurt as much and he could do flip after flip without any problem. He floated on his front and then flipped over and when his back got cold, he floated on his back closing his eyes under the beating sun. 

He dove down and tried to hover a few inches from the cool sandy bottom. But no matter how hard he tried, he ended up floating up towards the surface. This would not do, he wanted to be mid-way between the surface and bottom just like his turtle. He ended up gulping bigger and bigger breaths just to try different ways of staying under the water. He could hold his breath for a long time and wanted to see if he could spot any fish in the bay. 

Timmy waited in the shadows under the water and tried to float as silently as possible. Without a snorkel, he decided to remove the mask and tossed it onto the sand. When he came up for air, he would periodically wave to the beach crew, but they were off doing their own thing. That was okay with him. 

On one of his dives, he decided to start counting, _let’s see how long I can hold my breath_. He got up to forty-seven and had to come up for air. So, he kept trying. The next time, he reached sixty. He discovered that the less he moved and just relaxed as much as possible, the easier that it got. He continued diving and counting. After several minutes, there was even a point where his lungs stopped burning and the pressure evaporated. Darkness fell and all of the noise in Timmy’s head went blissfully quiet. No more counting, just floating, weightless, drifting off into deep, dazzling space.

The air hit his face and it felt like the best feeling in the world. He opened his mouth to breathe, but all that came out was water and he started choking. He hacked up some water and finally managed to take in some fresh sea air. Timmy didn’t know how long he had been in the water - in the floaty dark - but it seemed like it had been forever. He was light-headed, _what had that been_?

He swam on his back towards their bay and made his way back slowly to his beach towel. He kept coughing and his aunt casually leaned over to hit him between his shoulder blades. “Did you swallow some water there?” “Yes, I guess I did,” he managed to whisper in between coughing fits. Timmy lay on his stomach and tried to breathe without calling attention to himself, but every breath felt ragged and rough. 

After what felt like a half an hour, his fits eased and he let himself roll over on his back, enjoying the sun on his pale skin. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked out onto the placid ocean, stretching out leisurely like the cat that he was. _Well, that’s one life down, good thing that I have 8 more lives to go._


	2. Broke in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory (probably too much backstory) leading up to Timmy being broke, alone and uncertain of his next steps while on Grand Cayman. 
> 
> Then some shapely feet catch his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% fiction as usual.

Broke in Paradise

Timmy sighed and hid his head in his heads. _How had he ended up here_? It seemed utterly ridiculous. To be caught in a world wide pandemic on a beautiful, tropical island was probably most folks’ fucking dreams. But he was caught somewhere that he couldn’t really leave but also really couldn’t afford to stay. It was so difficult from the short months before when Timmy and Will had started off on their big adventure.

*****  
And it had been a grand adventure, if a bit impulsive. But Timmy had Will’s support and he had been equally enthusiastic. The timing had seemed perfect, actually. Timmy’s Broadway dance career had been permanently put on hold 20 months ago, after his knee injury during a gruelling tour. After surgery, he had dutifully gone to rehab and started the long process of getting back in shape, but he knew that the ripe age of 29, this might be the universe’s way of telling him, it was time to move onto the next phase of his life. _But to do what exactly_?

He had confessed his angst over next steps to Will, his childhood friend, over many bowls of pho in soup joints all over the Bronx. Will, an aspiring film director and producer, had a sympathetic ear. He had just started getting work in shooting television commercials - still a far cry from his dreams of Oscar glory. But when he started prompting Tim on what was next, he had happily taken part in all the _What if I_ and _Could you see me_ and _Whaddya think about_ speculations as only a good friend would do.

When Timmy had suggested that he wanted to get away from the dampness of the City to warmer climes - Will had been on board. But Timmy knew that he was not just itching for a warm weather getaway, it was time for a CHANGE. Overdue, really.

When Will asked him what he was doing apart from rehab, Timmy sheepishly admitted that he had somehow fallen into the rabbit warren of YouTube videos. Instead of his usual diet of dance videos, he had shifted to watching couples and families that had changed their lives permanently by getting away from the rat race. Sometimes they built tiny houses. Others converted vans or school buses into livable RVs and started travelling around. His favourites, however, were the sailing videos where they had sold everything and walked into a new lifestyle; sometimes alone, sometimes with kids in tow. Timmy confessed that if he won the lottery tomorrow, that he wanted to do the same. Travel, explore the world and live life.

Not that he hadn’t loved his career as a dancer. He had gotten to do some travelling around the States and Canada. But once you’ve seen the inside of a tour bus and the backstages of several theatres, you’ve pretty much seen them all. And, of course, they never stayed in one city to really get a feel for a place.

Although he loved the hustle and bustle of New York City, he longed for the peace and quiet of the water and the beach. Swimming at the Y four times a week for rehab was one of the ways that he was able to shut off his worry wart of a brain.

Will nodded sympathetically - as a native New Yorker - he understood the need to get away from the craziness and the crowds. He quizzed Timmy on the videos and promised to take a look. He could see from the gleam in Timmy’s eye that this was no passing fad on his part. And Will loved when Tim glowed with enthusiasm. It had been some time since he had seen his friend’s eyes filled with passion with desire of a different kind, written all over his face.

*****  
A few weeks later, over another bowl of pho, Will told Tim that he had taken a look at some of the channels that he had been watching. The stories were good; some of the photography was better than average. But the people - well they were pretty boring.

What was really needed was a channel with a couple of hip queer guys - such as themselves - to target a different part of the market. _How about it_? _Did Timmy want to try this with Will_? After all, Will didn’t call Tim his photographic muse for nothing. Will had been quietly taking photos and films of him for years; the camera loved Timmy to bits. And the possibilities for quality underwater photography on the channels was an untapped gold mine.

When Will suggested that they try to make a go of it, it had all fit into place. Every single step. Tim sublet his place and sold as much stuff as he could to raise funds. After they travelled to the Chesapeake Boat Show and they quickly realized that they couldn’t afford a new boat, or even a reasonably-priced second-hand boat, they had ended up in one of the Caribbean boat graveyards on Grenada, when Hurricane Maria had last swept through and stranded a number of boats in 2016.

There, there were boats galore for the taking, if you were prepared to put in a whole lot of work. On their second trip down with some local assistance, they fell in love with a battered, 55 foot Rarefied catamaran. Timmy was sure that they would be able to run charter trips on it with all that space; Will knew that they would be able to stow scuba and photography equipment without issues. Not being the most organized cooks, they loved the galley-down layout to hide the mess and room on the helm to install a future solar cell array.

After securing a sweet closing price, serious work was done by the boys and a local boat yard to retrofit and rebuild one of the keels. Will had to fly back to NYC for work but he was able to come back for several 2 week stints over the course of the 8 month rehab. Timmy was enjoying learning on the job, bartering with folks on and off the island to get necessary furniture and equipment and electrical wiring wasn’t as hard as it looked (thanks again to YouTube videos). Timmy took pride in making up some serious Excel spreadsheets and ticking off the tasks one at a time. Sure, he was a bit lonely now and then being on the hard, but there was nothing like a project - and a big one - to keep him occupied body and mind.

Smack dab in the course of their 8 month rehab, Timmy’s uncle, Sammy Flender had died and left Timmy and his sister Pauline a joint stake in his production company. While saddened about his death, ever the practical one, his grief had turned into familial gratefulness when he realized that soon he would be getting monthly royalty checks from the active productions to supplement his apartment rental funds and his savings.

Will had also been amazing with his financial support, even if he couldn’t be there as much as he would have liked. But he celebrated from afar when Timmy had videotaped the boat surveyor’s visit and the launch of the boat. In fact, it was Will, who had come up with the _**Cat-Mer-Man**_ , their new name for the spacious yacht. Will had celebrated when Timmy had scored second-hand engines and good-used sails from other passing vessels. He understood when Timmy explained how much work there was still before they could officially launch as a charter. They were both incredibly proud of this amazing feat and the creation of their new home.

*****  
Will finally made it back to the _**Cat-Mer-Man**_ in late October 2019. The boat was seaworthy, liveable and Timmy was raring to go. It was high time to push off shore and start their adventures. The first three months were heavenly (after Timmy insisted that they meet up in Florida for a week of sailing lessons) sailing from Grenada up the western edge of the Caribbean. They explored St. Vincent and the Grenadines, Barbados, St. Lucia, Martinique, Dominica and Guadeloupe and got to know their boat thoroughly inside and out. They were also lucky in that neither of them seemed to suffer any sea sickness - although occasionally Will took a few days to adjust on their longer passages.

They filmed and started posting their videos of their adventures above and below the water on-line. Timmy swiftly realized that their Youtube channel revenue was not going to pay their bills any time soon. If they were lucky, SOMEDAY, it might just might cover their monthly coffee, food, alcohol and weed expenses, but that was about all they could hope for. Their savings diminished, but their enthusiasm stayed high.

They soon settled into a pattern. Timmy and Will would sail from island to island - with Will flying home every few islands or every other month to make some real cash through his filming of TV commercials. When there was no filming work, Will would wash windows on the skyscrapers of New York high rise buildings - a uniquely lucrative job, which he’d fallen into after realizing that heights didn’t bother him. Timmy would continue on with the various boat projects and had actually picked up some part-time dance and teaching gigs on some of the larger islands, while waiting for Will to return to the Cat. He did more snorkelling and scuba diving, and shot local footage that he tried to sell to dive schools on the islands for their websites. He missed Will’s companionship when he wasn’t there. Will was able to calm down Timmy down, when his anxiety got the best of him.

But they weren’t together, together. They had been friends since junior high. Even though they had come out together as teenagers they quickly realized that that was a line that they would never cross. They knew what each found attractive. If Timmy brought home a beautiful man with shiny white teeth, if made no difference to Will. And if Will brought the occasional couple back to the boat for freaky times, Timmy felt it was none of his business. Young and single, they were living a good life; their best life, really.

From Guadeloupe, they continued to the slice of paradise that was St. Kits and Nevis - learning to kiteboard and paddle board. From there, it was onto the Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Will would leave every few weeks and then return as soon as he could.

They spent quite a bit of time in Jamaica. Things weren’t perfect, but they were good enough. Will had returned to New York City from Kingston yet again to replenish their bank accounts. Although, they were still novice sailors, they were definitely feeling more confident that it was almost time to launch the boat as an official charter business and welcome some paying customers.

*****  
So how had Timmy ended up feeling a like a peace of crap in Grand Cayman of all places? Stuck, like an abandoned shell on a perfect white sand beach of an island? How could he carry on? Should he stay put? Should he go? He wasn’t sure.

Despite the brilliant sunshine streaming in the cafe that morning, he blinked back tears and told himself _You don’t have to decide right now. One thing at a fucking time. Let’s just focus on today’s to-do list. Post the last underwater footage on-line_. Yes, he could do that.

As the last video was uploading, he pulled up the last set of posted dive videos from their channel. It was a confidence booster to read the nice comments from their slow but steadily growing fan base and a part of him relished deleting any comments from the trolls.

He drained his cup and cursed the slow-but-still-fastest-free local wifi connection in Munchies cafe. At least, the wait staff had given up on pestering him to buy their overpriced sandwiches to go with his one americano a day habit. In fact, the staff had gotten used to the amazingly-stll-so-pale, curly-headed lad who worked diligently away on his computer and made the odd phone call. Mostly they ignored his habit running of his hands through his curly hair while letting off the occasional moan or groan at his computer screen. He was just yet another tourist to the island - and the wait staff had perfected that infuriating nonchalant attitude - we’ll check-in-with-you-on-occasion- but-please don’t-mistake-our-attention-for-genuine interest. Timmy had realized that in his short Caribbean travels, that while most islanders were welcoming and hospitable, it would take real time and prolonged exposure before one would ever be considered to be a “local”. He was used to it.

He rubbed his forehead - back to trying to decide whether or not he should delete one of the more ignorant posts on the channel. He had gotten used to tuning out the people coming and going in the busy cafe, when something caught his attention at the downward corner of his eye.

A pair of feet had stopped beside his cafe table. Large feet that were not moving. Tanned feet in ubiquitous black flip flops. Shapely male feet with bright fuchsia pink nail polish. Now that was definitely not a usual sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Please don’t post any other site.
> 
> 2\. All commercial, brand names and trade names have been changed in this story except for those who have become common parlence. For instance, since Timmy is a Youtuber, so the reference to Youtube remains. All others have been modified...


	3. B.O.A.T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet and a tentative plan is hatched.
> 
> 100% fiction, always.

**Chapter 3 - B.O.A.T**

Timmy and Will had both loved and hated their sail from the western Caribbean. The actual sailing was great - it was the filming that they fought like crazy over. Timmy felt that Will had spent too much time filming top-side and that there was always a camera in his face. It got to him. Although Tim didn’t mind being in front of the camera - there were times when he got sick of it and told Will to shove it up his ass. Timmy thought they could take turns and show Will’s ugly mug for a change. Wouldn’t their audience love seeing this broad-shouldered smooth talker once in a while? Timmy stumbled over his words and swore too much. Will was smooth as silk and had the charming, self-deprecating thing down pat. Although Timmy had had a lifetime of performing, he didn’t want to be “on”, twenty-four-seven. 

Then they argued about the channel philosophy.

“Content, Teemo, it’s all about having content and updating the channel on a regular and fixed schedule,” repeated Will for the upteenth time.

Timmy disagreed. “I don’t want to be one of those channels that shows filming of our endless boat projects - no way. Everyone knows that BOAT stands for Break Out Another Thousand and that the Cat has been and continues to be a total fix-up job, but now that we are on the move, can we stick to filming the fun stuff? The sunsets, the sundowners, the wildlife, the underwater sequences. Remember our pledge?”

“What pledge?”

“The Life Aquatic - but in real life. That’s what we’re trying for, right?” 

“Don’t bring Wes into this. Someday, he’ll see my work, just you wait.”

“You and your love for that man. Have you tried to get his attention lately?” Timmy teased Will about one of his director crushes. Truth be told, both of them were fans of Wes Anderson. And referencing one of Will’s favourite directors usually got him off-topic at any rate, their disagreement fading into affectionate shoves that usually ended in one of them purposely diving off the side of the boat to change the topic. 

When they had last parted ways in Puerto Rico in late February, they both knew that things were not exactly going to plan, but they weren’t sure how to fix it either. Timmy would sail into the western Caribbean to get out of the normal hurricane pathway, before their insurance demanded it of them. The plan had been to rendez-vous in Belize for late summer and early Fall. Timmy had checked in with Will when he reached Jamaica. His commercial shoot had gone well and although he seemed really tired, they would see each other soon. 

Will had encouraged him to sail on to Grand Cayman without him. It was a diver’s paradise, protected coral reefs - there was no way that Timmy could pass on that opportunity. He agreed with Will. The plan was sound. He just did not think that he would still be there alone, during a world-wide pandemic, with limited income and a lack of Will. 

Whenever he thought about it, Timmy would have to close his eyes to dull the aching of his heart. 

*****

Grand Cayman was a paradise, if you were a Caymanian or an expatriate with tonnes of money. For a place with no income tax, it wasn’t a spot where you were easily accepted by the locals. On other islands, Tim had been able to find work for pay under the table easily. On Grand Cayman, without a work permit - and EVERYONE demanded one - he was shit outta luck. With no regular tourist flights in and out of Georgetown - the mood was less relaxed hide-away and more buttoned-up strait-jacket. No one wanted to part with their cash. 

Tim had been lucky enough to find a berth for the Cat-Mer-Man at the Royal Cayman Yacht Club (RCYC) where he had access to showers, laundry and spotty wifi. But it came at a price. A rather steep one named Howard - the on-site manager - who had propositioned Timmy in the sauna on the third day. Timmy got a reduced docking fee for getting on his knees on a regular basis. No matter how much he loved sucking cock, Tim was getting rather tired of their arrangement. 

For a small island with a large expat community, Grand Cayman was still pretty uptight. None to few overt queers to be found anywhere -- and Timmy had always prided himself at having impeccable gaydar. And it was not that strange, since just this past November, their Court of Appeal had recently overturned the constitutional challenge to uphold a ban of civil unions between two men and two women. Timmy couldn’t believe that he had ended up stuck on this narrow-minded island whose shape was that of a deformed foot. A foot that he wanted to shove up someone’s ass for sure. 

*****

So when he spied the tanned feet of a man with hot pink nail polish out of the corner of his eye - while hunched over his laptop - it immediately snapped him out of his misery. That was intriguing. 

His eyes slowly travelled upwards. Perfectly shaped calves, sturdy thighs disguised by the way too long, red, baggy boogie shorts favoured by all men on the island. Then up to a faded grey heavy metal t-shirt covering a chest that looked just the right shape. All the way up to the tuft of hair peeking out framing a strong neck and a tanned, proportioned face with a Tom Selleck Magnum PI era moustache. His hair was short - skinhead short - in contrast to the oversized ‘stache. From Timmy’s vantage point, the guy was huge, and he was not someone that he wanted to run into in a dark alleyway.

Timmy raised his eyebrows in greeting.

“Yeah man, are you Tim Chalamet?” Timmy nodded warily. “Roddy, from Steve’s Marina told me that you hang out here, when you’re not at the RCYC….Oh great. I’ve been looking for you” the skinhead said as he slid onto the seat opposite to Timmy.

“You’ve been looking for me?” Tim gulped. Shit. Still, he didn’t look all that official, not someone from the Port Authority. _But who was he and why was he looking for him_?

“Yeah man,” the stranger’s Caymanian accent slipped out, “I was chatting with Roddy who tells me that you’ve been doing some charters every so often.”

Tim’s haunches rose without meaning to betray him. Doing charters was totally against the rules in the Caymans as this was off-book income. Not to say that he’d been doing them, but if he happened to be going to cruise about the island to a dive spot and if a couple wanted to pay for the diesel and slip him some extra dough at the end the day - then it’s just possible that Tim had been friendly with a few folks with ‘common interests’. 

“Well, charters, no. But I have been taking a trip or two to some of the dive sites. Are you interested in going out to Kittiwake or the Sand Bar?”

“No, no. Roddy mentioned that you’ve been kitting up for a longer trip,” the guy said in a hopeful tone.

“Well, yes, I am planning to head home soon - after I do one last local trip,” offered Tim cautiously. He was pretty sure that this guy was no undercover government official by now.

“Where”s home?” asked the blond giant. 

‘Well, all over - the States eventually, but we’ll see. The main thing is to get my boat out of the Caribbean for the upcoming hurricane season - insurance rules being what they are…” 

The man interrupted him, “Are you planning to go to Florida, anytime soon? Specifically Miami?”

Timmy smiled, “Well, yeah, that will be the main stop after the Florida Keys.”

The stranger smiled and Tim took note of his perfect pearly whites. “Wow, that’s great. I’ve got to get out of here and I haven’t been able to book one of the repatriation flights off the island. Can I go with you?”

Tim tilted his head. “You’re a bit presumptuous, aren’t you? I don’t know who the heck you are. What’s your rush?”

“Oh sorry, man. I’m just excited. My name is Armie, ‘Armie Hammer’. I’ve been down here for the last 4 months with my wife and kids. I grew up here and it’s been good being back. But, the pandemic, it’s been hard and it’s time for me to go. Yeah, it’s really time - I’ve got to leave.”

Timmy raised his eyebrows for the third time. “So you’re looking for quick passage off the island...” What was this guy looking for, a ship that could do the Kessel run too? _Who was he and what kind of ridiculous porn star, toothpaste name was that anyway_? 

“Well, Armie, ‘Armie Hammer’, I’m not in the habit of giving people that I don’t know an extended trip on my boat. And it seems likely you need a quick ride. I captain a sailboat. It’s a catamaran - not a power boat. If you are looking for a fast ride, that’s not me dude.” He started shuffling his things, checking his laptop, praying to god the video had finished loading by now.

But this Armie person didn’t budge. “Sorry - yes, I need to leave the island - but it’s for several reasons. Mainly work. I’m an actor and this TV series, I’ve been cast in may start up production in L.A next month. If I was on the mainland, they would charter a plane to come get me. But, because I’m here, that’s not an option. So I’ve got to get my butt to the States. Covid-19 or not, if I can’t be there, they may go with someone else. So, yeah, that’s why I’ve got to leave.”

“You sure about that?” Timmy said quizzically. Something was not quite ringing true and when his gut tightened up - it was best to follow that instinct.

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” replied Armie, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “And I would totally compensate you for the trouble of having me on board. Whatever, you want me to pay for, Food, fuel, alcohol, you name it.” His eyes suddenly twinkled, “I could pay you $2000 now and an extra $8000 when we reach Miami, so long as it’s a fast ship.”

Tim smiled inwardly recognizing the reference, but on the outside he hid his smirk, by rubbing his nose and chin. 

“Well, let me think about it Mr. Armie, ‘Armie Hammer’. I’m doing a trip to Little Cayman with some ex-pat friends this weekend for some diving. They probably wouldn’t mind some extra company and another person to split the costs. If you’re interested, that is, I could ask them if you could come along. That way, you could see how you like the boat and if we can get along.” The trip to Miami may only be about 5 or 6 days, but Tim knew from past experience that it was better to suss out someone’s character over a few days, before commiting to a longer trip. “How does that sound to you?”

Armie paused, thinking, but didn’t have time to respond before Tim added, “This weekend’s trip would be leaving Friday afternoon. Sailing overnight to Little Cayman. Diving most of Saturday and Sunday around that island and Cayman Brac. Leaving late Sunday afternoon and depending on the winds and current, we would be back here late Sunday evening or early Monday morning. That’s the plan.” 

Armie ran his hand over his short hair - “Well, yeah, maybe, I’ve never actually been to Cayman Brac...I had had some tentative plans with my children that obviously would need to be rearranged and talk to the wife. But that trip sounds great. I haven’t done any diving since I’ve been here. Yeah - let me get your coordinates and I’ll get back to you tomorrow by noon.” He handed over his phone and Tim added his number. 

“So you dive then?” Tim asked. And yeah, it was nice how all of a sudden Armie’s smile lit up his face and reached his eyes. “I love diving, I actually got certified as an instructor in California. But the trip here was only supposed to be a short visit. I wasn’t planning on staying past Easter and I don’t have any of my gear with me. I’ve only been spending time in the pool with my kids. They are too young for diving.”

“Oh...well, Little Cayman is supposed to be spectacular diving - wall dives, that’s what I’m really looking forward to. Plus places for free diving.” Tim’s enthusiasm started to bubble to the surface. “The couple, Jess and Terry, I met them doing the free diving course here - they are really nice. So, yeah think it over and let me know. If you decide on joining us, you can meet me at the RCYC and I’ll give you a tour of the Cat.”

“Okay - yeah. Oh shit,” Armie glanced down at this phone. “I’ve got to go. I’m staying at the Palms, but I’m late for an appointment at the radio station. Tune into Z99.9 this afternoon. I’ll be on there in a guest promo spot.” With that mysterious statement, Armie rose up and extended his elbow. 

Timmy stood, momentarily confused, until - _oh yeah, the new Corona handshake_ \- and stuck out his elbow as well, making them touch. Armie looked him in his eyes and said a cheerful “Thanks man, I’m glad I found you. Later!” 

With that, he sauntered off into the blinding sunlight and Timmy couldn’t help but glance down to watch his beautiful bubble butt retreat out the door. He sighed. _Married - just my luck_.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my betas @trashfortimmy and @monetsberm83 for their editorial skills. As I write longhand and then transcribe afterwards, for some reason, this chapter had more than the usual number of grammatical issues. However, excited to share with others!
> 
> Comments always appreciated.


	4. A house on the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie’s POV and a tour of the yacht

**A House on the Water**

Armie woke up, stretching his back on the far-too-soft hotel mattress. He was feeling grumpy, a common feeling for him during this global pandemic. Not only was he not where he wanted to be, but he and Elizabeth, his soon-to-be ex-wife, were still adjusting to the fact that co-parenting their children in different spaces and times would require more and not less communication between them. He closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly -- _one thing at a time_. 

He started thinking about Tim, the sailor that he met the day before. He twisted his mouth. _Why should he get roped into a weekend cruise to Little Cayman and beyond_? _With favourable winds they could be in Florida in 4 or 5 days...he was paying top dollar, after all. Hadn’t this Tim person ever been around people before_? This screening cruise ahead of time seemed a bit excessive. Well, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He’d been warned by the marine supply shop that he was unlikely to find anyone that was leaving Grand Cayman at that time: most sailors that were there or likely to arrive later in the summer were fixing to stay put on the island for the Hurricane season. Grand Cayman was not exactly close to Cuba, but it was somewhat tucked into its lee, so much so that it rarely got hit by fall and winter hurricanes and had earned its reputation as a safer hurricane refuge for that reason. 

Armie breathed in and breathed out again. Well, a guaranteed ride off Grand Cayman, even if just for a weekend was better than sticking around, feeling stuck and resentful. Even if it didn’t work out with a ride to Miami, he would be more relaxed and happier around Harper and Ford after the little excursion.

He’d been golfing up a storm, as that was one activity that the movie studios would allow him to do, as well as splash around in a pool with his children. But whenever he broached anything more exciting - parasailing for example - his agent, on behalf of the studios, started reading him the riot act. He’d received a phone call after chartering a boat for a day fishing trip with a buddy. His PR rep, Evelyn, reminded him that posting a shirtless video of him enjoying himself without his family could come across as tasteless and insensitive - given the absolute shitshow going down in the States. There was no way Armie was gonna mention the possibility of a weekend scuba trip. Nope, better make the arrangements and beg for forgiveness later, if required. 

And Armie was intrigued by this Tim and his boat. Where did such a young man, with arresting green-hazel eyes and alabaster skin, come into possession of a catamaran all by himself? Perhaps he was delivering it to its owner States-side? And how the heck was he so pale, being down in the Caribbean? Yes, this Tim Chalamet was a mystery, for sure. Armie - like most people - was sure that he was a good judge of character. But he didn’t get any suspicious or weird vibes off this Tim person.

He quickly arranged to meet Tim on Wednesday at 3 pm where his boat was moored, docking Bay 94. Tim told him that his boat, besides being one of the few large ass catamarans, had a unique colour, but refused to elaborate by text.

*****

As Armie wandered up and down the docks trying to find the right row (in deference to the laid-back nature of the Caribbean, there was hardly any numbering to be seen), he saw an obnoxiously loud hot-pink boat in the distance. _No way...could it be_? He headed that way and sure enough there was a large hot-pink hulled catamaran with white decks and gleaming hardware. Fuchsia? Burgundy? Magenta? No, definitely hot pink - making it pretty easy to spot, even in the glaring sun.

He stopped on the dock opposite, hesitating - what was the protocol in these circumstances? It was 3 pm on the dot - should he text? Should he yell? Was there a bell to ring? Armie was pondering all of this when Tim emerged from the inside of the boat to the back deck, “Hey, you made it! No problems finding The Cat then?” It was only then that Armie noticed the name written in slanted script on the helm, _The Cat-mer-man_.

“No, no issues finding you at all. Umm - permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Timmy chuckled, “Yes, of course” and pointed him to one of the sugar scoops where his long legs easily bridged the gap between dock and steps. Thank goodness, he had remembered to wear running shoes instead of flip flops. Evelyn would have his head, if he broke his leg slipping and falling on a stranger’s boat. 

“Well, welcome to my house.” Armie looked around appreciatively. He had spent time on some yachts on the California coast, but a double-hulled catamaran was definitely a different aquatic beast. 

Tim laughed and said, “Okay, here’s my one and real rule for the boat. No outside shoes please,” gesturing down towards Armie’s running shoes. “It’s bare feet or dedicated boat shoes while on-board at all times. Keeps the cleaning down to a more reasonable schedule”. Armie thought, “Oops” and obligingly bent down to remove his sneakers, revealing his still unchipped fuschia toenail polish.

Timmy offered coffee and then asked whether he wanted to talk first and then look around or tour the boat and then chat. Armie, still impressed with the spacious aft deck with teal coloured cushioned seating area, decided immediately, “Gimme the grand tour, she looks like a beauty.”

Timmy smiled with an upturned twist of his mouth. “We’ll start with the stern.” He pointed out the elevated dingy and the spot beneath for the emergency life raft - which he hoped never to have to use. Then the two engine lockers - one on each side of the sugar scoops which dipped down towards the water. On one side was a mount for a fishing rod, “Have you ever done any fishing off the back of a boat?” Tim had finally acquired a license after 2 months of being in Grand Cayman and he couldn’t wait to finally do some open-ocean hand lining. Nodding up a storm, Armie told him about his relatively recent powerboat trip that had netted some nice mahi mahi for sushi. Tim nodded back, then pointed out the small BBQ grill and the back hatches for scuba equipment storage. Under the aft hardtop area Armie was amazed that he was able to fit all 6’5” of his frame in there without stooping. Tim showed him the elevated captain’s seat from which you could control the yacht’s lines and winches. 

From there, they moved along the exterior side of the board towards the bow. Armie saw two trampolines and some folding seats along with the hardtop “princess” seats at the top of each keel. He briefly closed his eyes, yes, this was going to be a good place to sit and think. But, there was no time for it now as Tim was chattering away about a brand-new sail from Canada and how this weekend’s voyage would be it’s virgin trip - he seemed super excited. He glimpsed some flat, thin flexible solar cells mats on the hardtop as Tim led him back around the starboard side and into the interior. 

Armie gaped in surprise. He had been on a number of boats before, but nothing like this. The cabin was stunning with gleaming, honey golden wood almost everywhere he looked. Creamy white leather stools, with a curvy coach straddling a large triangle-shaped table and an adjacent flat screen. The interior had large forward and side facing windows, several that looked like they could open for ventilation. They were closed at the moment and Armie felt a sigh of relief - a/c. Now that was truly a luxury. And then Armie incredulously blurted out “Wait, wait, wait - look, I can stand up straight in here. I’ve never ever been able to do that on a boat before.”

Tim smiled indulgently. “Yeah, the extra head room was one of the reasons for selecting this boat. It’s not typical, even on catamarans. But, I’m tallish and my friend Will, well, he’s taller than me, and neither of us felt like we wanted to spend all of our days bending over. It’s not a racing or performance catamaran for that reason, not as streamlined as some, but it’s all about enjoying the journey right?”

Armie looked around, “Where’s your galley? Isn’t it usually here?” Tim flashed his teeth, “We’ll get there.” He turned to the port side and motioned Armie to follow. He showed him a queen-sized bedroom and a v-berth combined with a built-in desk-office, both with their own heads. Tim apologized for the chaos of the smaller cabin, “This is my work in progress space at the moment.” They returned to the interior berth and Timmy led him down a few steps in the centre, here Armie was not able to stand up completely but he didn’t have to to see something extraordinary. What would have been an extremely cozy double bedroom, instead had been converted into a massive storage locker for wetsuits, goggles, buoyancy vests, weight belts, flippers and kiting gear. _Were those spear guns in the corner_? Everyone was hung up, with labelled curtained closets and shelves with cording, so that nothing could tip out while under sail. Tim was explaining how this had originally been another bedroom, but through trial and error, had been converted into easy-access storage. Tim quipped, “I call this the fun locker.”

From there, they moved back up around the settee and down to the starboard hull. on Armie’s immediate right was a closed door. Tim guestured, “This is my bedroom and head,” but didn’t open the door, subtly indicating his personal private space. 

Turning to his left, there were stainless steel doors (he guessed fridge and freezer?) which enticed Armie into the galley. His mouth fell open as he’d never seen anything quite as luxurious on a boat. A double sink with a window view. Tonnes of cupboards and cubbyholes on both sides of the galley. A stove top with a small convection oven beneath. _Was that a dishwasher tucked next to the sink_? _And a way to pass dishes up and back to the interior living cabin?_ Wow. Colour him impressed. 

Tim led him forward to a queen sized berth with the head just off the kitchen. Tim, mumbled, somewhat apologetic, “This will be your space for this weekend.” “Do you mind?’ And without waiting for an answer, Armie hoisted himself diagonally across the bed. Timmy laughed, “Watch your head, man. Yeah, you are the tallest person I’ve had on board yet.” Armie stretched and said, “This is gonna be fine.” Timmy looked down on this long-limbed form with the ridiculous moustache and stubbled face - “So glad you approve.”

He turned and led him out of the cabin through the head, back through the galley and back up to the settee area. Armie sat down and after pouring some iced coffee, Tim joined him. While Armie was waiting, he noticed that he completely missed seeing a small bow-facing navigation and charging desk-station. 

The coffees led into a few rum n’tings while they got to know each other better. Armie discovered that Tim had met both Terri and Jess when doing a lionfish culling course as well as at a free diving course on the island. Tim had been lucky enough to arrive just as the draconian first six weeks of night curfew had been lifted in Georgetown. Armie had not been so lucky. 

Timmy discovered that Armie came by his lilting speech naturally having spent approximately 5-plus years on Grand Cayman from age 8 to 13 and that he had reconnected with a few of his childhood friends a couple years previously. Armie discovered that Tim had studied dance at several prestigious New York schools before landing on Broadway. Timmy discovered that Armie could climb coconut trees, knew how to wield a machete AND also use the coconut shells for cooking. Plus he had gotten married at a ridiculously young age. 

If they accidentally nudged each other’s ankles and knees under the table, well, that was just because they both had long legs. If Timmy became a little more hypnotized by Armie’s piercing azure eyes and large hands that he used when he talked, it was totally normal. And if Armie discovered that this pale cherub-lipped man was trying to like ska and reggae music, but desperately missed the lit music scene of the Bronx, then it was nobody’s business but their own.

After what felt like an instant, but was really two and a half hours later, Armie realized with a start that the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. After receiving some buzzy texts, he checked his phone and swore. Running late, again. 

Tim promised to text him the rest of the details for the weekend. Armie flashed his blinding white canines and apologized for cutting the visit short and left off the boat. Elizabeth was going to be furious with him - but the afternoon had been both interesting and distracting in the best possible way. He couldn’t wait for the weekend. Things were looking up.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I originally thought that this story would be totally told from Timmy’s POV. But surprise, Armie just showed up out of the great blue yonder and 🤷... What can I say - I really don’t know what I’m doing.
> 
> 2\. Here’s a handy list of technical boat terms. (Let me know if I screwed up, which is quite possible...)
> 
> Bow and Prow - the forward-most part of the boat, where it cuts the waves and the dolphins play  
> Aft/Stern - the back part of the boat, typically where the engines are  
> Port - left side of the boat, looking forward  
> Starboard - right side of the boat, looking forward  
> Galley = kitchen  
> Head = Bathroom/Toilet


	5. Definitely not Sailing Zatara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The foursome start their weekend sailing and diving trip to Little Cayman and Cayman Brac. Timmy learns a bit more about Armie.

**Definitely not Sailing Zatara**

Friday - just another day in Paradise - thought Timmy as he violently yawned and stretched, in preparation for the epic roll out of bed. Normally, in the city, Timmy was a total night owl. Here in the almost-tropics, when the sun rose, it was up - and all the best blackout blinds in the world couldn’t entire hide the piercing rays of light. By default, then, over the course of several months, he’d adapted to the ways of the Caribbean. Rise early - have small breakfast - do your vigorous exercise and hard workouts out of the way as early as possible - have a humongous lunch - light jobs, followed by a well-earned afternoon siesta - rising again by 3 pm to do more work or strolling into town to do more errands - followed by a well-deserved sundowner and supper on the boat. Watch mindless TV. Rinse and repeat.

But today was different. It was much easier getting out of bed - he was looking forward to this weekend jaunt to Little Cayman and Cayman Brac. He had missed visiting Grand Cayman’s sister islands and their world renowned dive spots while sailing from the east. He had needed to check into the main island and re-supply before yet another island closed their borders due to COVID19. Now, he could finally go back and properly explore these islands, with the nicest couple that he had met over the last three months. And this mysterious giant American man.

*****

Timmy was engaged in an last-minute check of his navigation software, when he heard the light voices of Jessica and Terri laughing and scampering down the dock, before he could see them. They turned the corner and waved to him while dropping their bags down, “We made it! We’re so happy that we’re finally here”. 

Jessica shook her long curly red hair, jumped on board and gave him a hug, which Timmy returned. Terri, her long-term girlfriend, a statuesque brunette with short wavy hair, followed suit. She was so strong, her hug lifted Timmy up in the air. Timmy shouted, “Okay, okay. I’m glad you’re here and that you were able to make time for this trip”. 

They looked at each other and shrugged, “Not much else going on during the quarantine Tim. We’re just glad to have met you, so we can get outta here for a while” exclaimed Terri. Jess added, “You have no idea what this means to us, to get out and off this little rock, even if it’s just a short-lived getaway”. Timmy smiled, “Well let’s get your stuff on board, so we can shove off soon”. In no time, their luggage was stowed in the port-side berth and their scuba equipment was stowed away and hung up in the equipment locker. 

After settling in, they joined Timmy for coffee in the outdoor saloon, easily making themselves at home at the teak breakfast table. Timmy asked them, “So, I presume that Armie contacted you about the trip and you’ve made all the financial arrangements with him?” Terri chimed in “Yeah, he’s been great, he texted and called. What kind of name is ‘Army’ anyway?” Timmy shrugged his shoulders, looking down at his dive watch, “I have no idea, but he’s late. Apparently, he’s some sort of actor, but he seems like a nice guy. We’re all refugees right now, aren’t we?” 

Terri squeezed Timmy’s hand, “That’s for damn sure. I’m just really looking forward to getting some spectacular dives in this weekend. Do you think that we’ll be able to catch some fish for dinner”? “Well, I’m still a beginning fisherman, but hopefully we’ll be able to spear some lionfish during one of our dives, at the very least.” Timmy remembered how they had originally met. “But I’ve stocked tofu, tempeh and frozen seafood as a backup, just in case, we don’t have any luck. We’re not gonna starve!” 

They started reminiscing about the lionfish cull course they had all taken, when Timmy heard the steady thump thump of someone moving down the dock. He looked up and saw the gigantic form of Armie lopping towards the boat with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder, wearing a baseball hat that hid his shaved head. 

Armie bounded on board - without asking this time - and breathlessly said, “I made it. Sorry, I’m late. Moving on island time today” while smiling apologetically. He bent down and removed his shoes. “This is for you Tim,” as he handed over a bottle of Appleville Rum. “Noticed that your supply was looking low the last time”. He turned to the two women, “Hey, I’m Armie.” Jess and Terri introduced themselves and if Timmy noticed that Armie’s eyes crinkled and twinkled just a little bit at Terri, well, who wouldn’t? He’d catch on to their relationship. Timmy chuckled to himself.

After Armie got settled in, Timmy brought everyone inside of the salon for a quick trip overview. He outlined the approximate sailing times and the planned dive sites. After questions about the plan - who were they kidding - _he was the only one with a plan_ \- he swung into a safety briefing. Finally, he outlined the shift and meal preparation schedule, which he had written out on a small white board, propped up on a ledge. To his surprise, Armie volunteered to do all the early watches with both of his palms raised in supplication, “It’s no biggie, I’m used to getting up early with Harper and Ford”. With that change made, it was finally time to set sail!

Timmy turned on the engines and with the combined efforts of Jess and Terri, they gently cast off. The Cat moved slowly from the protection of the North Sand Channel and chugged onwards smoothly cutting through the Caribbean sea. 

For the first 40 minutes or so, Jess and Terri perched up front at the bow twin helms watching out for balmies - coral heads that could pop out of nowhere - until they were far enough from the island. The wind was blowing at a steady 10 knots, which made it relatively easy to talk to each other while moving around the yacht. Then it was time to hoist the mainsail and cut the engine. Thereafter, with Armie’s help, _though he didn’t really need the help_ , they hoisted the spinnaker and they were sailing at a gentle clip.

At this point, Timmy also heaved a sigh of relief. No more noisy engines, just him, his boat, the wind and the waves. This was good.

*****

Armie had been shadowing Tim as they set sail. He watched how graceful Tim was moving - no - dancing around the boat showing the two women how to properly wrap the lines and stow the buoys in the front lockers. He steered the boat while Timmy was away from the helm and sighed. He didn’t look back at Grand Cayman as they steamed offshore - he needed this weekend away for his sanity, more than anything.

He was impressed with Timmy’s confidence in handling the Cat - his light, but authoritative voice when he needed to instruct others - he looked like he’d being doing this all his life. Lucky guy.

*****

After several hours and a tasty greek pasta salad for lunch, the wind turned totally against them. They dropped the sails and motored the rest of the way to Little Cayman. On the map, Little Cayman resembled a pocket knife handle, with most of the residential and commercial development concentrated in the west end, which was in close proximity to the best snorkeling and dive sites. The east end of the island was a protected fish replenishment zone. The south side had shallow reefs dotted around, with the north shore had more deep drop offs punctuated by white sand beaches. 

That afternoon, Timmy showed Armie how to catch and tied the boat off to a mooring ball while dropping the hook. Tying the boat off to the mooring ball involved a knot or two and Armie caught on fast to the bowlines, the man certainly knew his knots!

*****

After securing their spot, everyone jumped in the water for a refreshing dip. Jess and Terri got out their snorkels, long flippers and took turns spotting each other doing some breath work in preparation for their upcoming free diving adventures. After doing some laps and shallow dives around the boat, Armie climbed out and watched the women from the steps of the sugar scoops, it was fascinating how long they were able to hold their breath on the surface, but after a while, he felt like he was intruding. They were too wrapped up in what they were doing to pay any attention to the large, scruffy man with the still-bushy moustache. He shook his head - he certainly wasn’t used to being ignored by good looking women - maybe the sun was getting to him. He went in to take a shower and get ready for dinner.

Armie’s thoughts wandered while he was in the shower. _What was he doing there? Was he selfish for doing this trip instead of spending time with his family? When was he ever going to be back in Henry’s arms?_ He missed his boyfriend’s smell, his strong arms and the feeling of being supported by someone who understood absolutely everything about his work. The thrill of getting ready to audition and successfully landing a role. The character research (especially when based on real life people), the preparation of trying out mannerisms, vocalisations and noting up the script for possible approaches and questions that he could explore with the other actors and the director. The day-to-day exhilaration of getting to do a scene, all combined with the interminable waiting, boredom and loneliness of location work. 

Armie was done. He was done trying to balance his family’s needs, his boyfriend’s needs, his needs and also keep everything together and on the downlow. He was exhausted. As he ran the soapy lather over his body, he thought, _how long had it been since he had been able to take a shower with Henry?_ He missed his stomach, his strong arms and lying between his thighs. He missed being taken care of, instead of always being the caregiver. Hell, he missed everything about him. Everything, except when they fought, which they did frequently. But when they didn’t fight, there were fireworks. 

_Soon. He would see him soon_. He would be in his arms and he intended to stay there for the longest hug in history, if he had his way. He’d been waiting for over four months, he could hang on. He could wait a little longer.

In the meantime, if they were going to be diving, he remembered he’d better trim back his moustache, or else his diving tomorrow would be much more difficult.

*****

Meanwhile, perched outside on the stern of the yacht, Jess and Terri were deep in the throes of tease torturing Timmy. “Just where did you find that giant, scruffy hunk of a man?” inquired Jess. Timmy rubbed his neck and shrugged, “Actually he found me through the chandlery. He’s looking for a ride back to the mainland, so if this weekend works out, we’ll be heading out for mainland USA in the next weather window.” 

Jess’s eyes twinkled, “ You mean it’s just gonna two of you alone here on the boat for several days?”. She whistled low, “Watch out Armie.” Timmy cocked his head and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, “C’mon. You heard him. He says he has a wife and kids. Stop it!”. 

Terri joined in with a giggle and flick of her head, “With a body like that, I’m sure he’s not just fighting off the ladies. My gaydar is tingling mighty strong. Ding, ding, ding!”

Timmy sighed, “Puh-lee-ze, you think that everyone you meet is gay. And you’re not always right,” remembering one disastrous encounter she had encouraged with a blond, bearded Caymanian. Fortunately for Timmy, he turned out not to be a homophobic Caymaniac. 

He excused himself and scurried away to the galley, retrieving a selection of cheese and crackers to accompany their beers. They dug in and the topic was dropped. Armie joined the trio thereafter and the conversation turned to freediving and their upcoming dives.

*****

The day after, the crew was up with the sun. Timmy was glad to see that everyone was getting along. They started the day at a popular spot called Jackson’s Bight, early enough in the morning to miss all of the day trippers. Armie snorkelled in the shallows while Timmy, Jess and Terri took turns freediving along the permanently anchored line in the big blue hole. They had no luck spearing any lionfish. After a time, Timmy swam over to where Armie was snorkelling in and out of the coral caverns. He watched as the odd barracuda leisurely swam in and out of the caves, taking no notice of the snapper and grunt swimming in lazy circles. The barracuda were too interested in watching out for easier pickings like silverside minnows that in a taunting swarm of silver that swirled around just out of reach. 

From there, after a hasty mid-morning snack of mango, tempeh and papaya ceviche, they moved west to Bloody Bay Wall. Timmy was excited to dive here - although he felt nerves of responsibility - since he had never dived with Armie before. They reviewed their hand signals and internally Timmy heaved a sigh of relief when Armie agreed to stay tight to him. 

*****

They dinghied over to the dived site, hoisted the red and white striped flag on the float to show any other boats that a dive was in progress and took turns falling over the sides in pairs to one of the world’s top dive sites. 

The dive started in the shallows with a pair of friendly five foot long Nassau Groupers approaching both Armie and Timmy. Timmy had previously explained that some of the divers had taken to feeding them dead lionfish, so that’s why they were so friendly. Armie was still amazed at being approached so closely by these speckled giants. He wanted to reach out and touch them, but remembered this was a big no-no.

Light sky-blue waters gave way to deeper aquamarine as they slowly descended down the Wall. The Wall - despite its fearsome name - was alive with a variety of creatures in a variety of sizes. There were brown sprungs and homely sea squirts. Timmy waved to Armie and pointed with his dive stick to something. After his eyes adjusted, he saw Peterson shrimp dancing delicately through the waving wands of iridescent sea fans. Timmy was glad that he was able to film the descent and catch Armie pointing his arms to the rays and occasional shark that lurked in the navy darkness below.

All too soon, they had to ascend to their decompression stop 20 feet below the surface. Armie felt overwhelmed and thankful for what they had seen. As they slowly ascended the last distance, he locked up to see their bodies gently parting through a school of juvenile barracuda and thought - _wow, we are some of the luckiest people on the planet_. 

They hung out on the dingy while Terri and Jess did their dive. Armie was ecstatic, “That was..wow, that was amazing! Did you see the the coral and sea fans? They looked so healthy. No bleaching.” 

Timmy looked over and saw the sheer delight on Armie’s face. He suddenly looked like an overgrown kid. He had a silly thin - now trimmed - Rhett Butler style of moustache. not a stressed out father of two. He continued, “I can’t believe it. Can you believe it Tim? Did you get some good footage?”

Tim smiled at the grinning goofy man in front of him. “Yeah, I think the filming went really well.”

“Well?” “Well?” Armie threw his head back and pumped both fists to the heavens. “That was fucking awesome!”. Timmy laughed and raised his camera and managed to photo capture Armie and his lanky form capped off with his full toothy canine smile. “There, gotcha, now, you’ll have something to remember today from.” 

Armie’s face and mood quickly darkened, “Uh, yeah, thanks, but let’s just take photos of what’s underwater, please.” Timmy was confused and said “Sure, no problem.” They lapsed into a somewhat less comfortable silence, as they waited for the girls to finish their dive.

Timmy pondered the sudden change in mood: _An actor, who doesn’t like his picture taken? Most performers love the limelight. Who doesn’t like their photo taken? Okay, whatever_. He had no time to dwell on this and his thoughts quickly turned to their next destination and dive site.

After lunch, they motored along the north shore of Little Cayman, arriving soon after at the sister island of Cayman Brac in the early afternoon. Armie seemed, especially, excited to explore this larger island, as he confessed, that he had never made it before to this slice of paradise. They dived the sunken Russian frigate wreck, now renamed the Captain Keith Tibetts. Later that evening at dinner - Armie regaled his namesake’s grandfathers’ exploits as a double agent spying for both the Communists and the USA in the ‘30s and 50s.

Timmy marvelled at how comfortable he felt diving with this hulking giant. In the water, their size difference seemed less of a big deal and Timmy’s muscular legs were easily able to keep up with Armie’s slow but steady pumping of his golden-haired long legs. 

Luckily, Will’s tangerine-coloured shorty wetsuit had fit him to a tee. It seemed almost made for Armie. To Timmy, it almost felt like Will was right back alongside with him, along his side. But Armie was definitely not Timmy’s long-time friend. He shook his head. _Stop that. Concentrate on the here and now._

That afternoon they did some shore dives along the north shore and had a late picnic lunch on a deserted beach. Since the weather and seas were so calm, Timmy decided that they should try for the Bluff, the easternmost point of the island. They capped their day off, with a final dive along the dramatic cliff face underneath the highest point of the Cayman Islands. They looked at large boulders still there and the relatively ancient wreck of the Union at the tip of the island. The water turned from dark blue to navy blue to black as the sun dipped over the horizon. As a treat, this last dive was done right off the back of the boat and they ascended, they were easily able to find the boat as they surfaced with its bright underwater lights. From there, they set sail at a leisurely four knots along the south side of the island - with Timmy setting a course a good half-mile or so off the shore to avoid any unmarked reef heads. They anchored for the night, not too far from the right-named Anchor Wall.

That night, the foursome played gin rummy after inhaling a delicious meal of (previously frozen) grilled swordfish, rice and peas. Armie’s grilling prowess was praised by all. Armie ate fast and excused himself right after the main course, by saying that he needed to make a few calls. Later, he explained that he liked to video call with his children before their bedtime. 

After dinner, he made another call while Timmy and Terri were cleaning the galley. They weren’t exactly eavesdropping when he heard Armie’s voice repeating on a call. “Henry….’ and ‘Hen…Please, just listen to me. I’m coming there soon. I want to be with you. You know that.” It certainly didn’t sound like he was talking to his children or his wife. They couldn’t help overhearing his voice and they looked at each other, feeling a bit guilty for their unintentional hearing. It sure sounded like Armie was getting exasperated with this person. Timmy looked at Terri with his eyebrows raised on his forehead while mouthing ‘I have no idea. None of our business.” Terri silently nodded in agreement as they finished their cleanup and went up the stairs to join Jess in the salon.

When he emerged again from his cabin, Armie downed half a beer, before shaking off his distracted mood and truly joining in with the threesome’s card game. 

Before stretching out to sleep, Timmy thought again gratefully at the calmness of the sea, the perfect weather and how lucky they were to be on this trip. He closed his eyes and dropped off into a relaxed sleep, not even hearing the occasional slap of waves between the hulls. Only he knew if he dreamed about caves with shy fish emerging from the shadows and a large blond man wearing an orange wetsuit with sharp blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter was unbetaed and had a number of changes in Armie and Timmy’s POVs, so please let me know if this was too confusing or there are any glaring errors.
> 
> 2\. Gentle reminder that I have altered all brand name, trade names and commercial names throughout this story.
> 
> 3\. Thanks for your tumblr reblogs, kudos and comments - they are fuelling this story, as a first-time fiction writer - they are greatly appreciated! 😘


	6. Smooth sailing and back “home”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more diving and domesticity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I got off-track a little while ago, but am back and hopefully will stay on a regular posting schedule. This chapter is a bit short as is the next, but I hope you enjoy the Caribbean flavour!

**Smooth sailing and back “home”**

The next morning, Timmy and Armie sat together at the helm, while he showed Armie some of the quirkier sides of sailing the Cat. Fortunately, Armie had previously sailed on a few monohulls and already knew a lot of the sailing lingo. Tim - although he was totally comfortable sailing the double-hulled craft alone - welcomed his ready assistance in raising and lowering the assymetrical sail on and off the bow sprit.

They easily reached the north shore of Little Cayman while still early enough in the morning to spend most of the day exploring the unpopulated north shore. They dropped the hook at several places that seemed promising on the charts where Timmy, Jess and Terri took turns freediving from the back of the boat. Armie stayed on board, for the most part, marvelling at the length of time each of them were able to stay beneath the waves. 

Jess and Terri were thrilled to catch some of the beautiful but invasive lionfish on their free dives. Jess caught two and corralled them quickly into her kill bags and Terri was happy with her one catch. The poisonous spikes or spears lining the vertebral column always made her a bit nervous. 

They took turns showing Armie (and refreshing Tim’s memory) how to de-spine the fish so that they could be safely filleted. Lionfish croquettes with some spicy scotch bonnet aioli would definitely be an appetizer on that evening’s menu.

After a quick lunch of chili mac (appreciating the warmth despite the blazing sun), they sailed westward again to Jackson Bight. There the group dove again - this time using their scuba gear. They were lucky enough to spot fire coral and the occasional Hawksbill turtle gliding through the underwater canyons. 

While waiting for Jess and Terri to finish their dive, Timmy asked Armie as casually as he could, “So what do you think? Are you still interested in sailing to Miami with me, now that you’ve got a taste for the boat and how I operate?” He tried not to let the sound of desperation enter into his voice - honestly Armie’s offer was so generous and it was EXACTLY what he needed financially - Timmy hoped that he definitely would want to go through with the trip. 

He couldn’t see Armie’s eyes as they were hidden by the reflective UV coating of his sunglasses. But he could see the upward turn of his cheeks. “Yes, this has been an excellent trip - at least I hope you think so. I’ll admit, the sailing will take a lot longer than flying, but I think that I’ll enjoy the ride back to Miami with you. So, yes, I’m game, if you are…” his voice trailed off. 

Timmy inwardly took a huge sigh of relief and tried not to openly celebrate.  _ It was going to work out - hallelujah _ . But best to play things cool. “Okay - well, I guess you are my new crew. We’ll talk more about the exact window for departure after we get back to Grand Cayman.”

The group did a quick pit stop at Mixing Point, where they all snorkeled and were almost attacked by more hand-fed tiger groupers that gathered around them looking for handouts. The larger, striped groupers always reminded Timmy of grumpy old men hanging around together exchanging silent gossip in their underwater park. They glared unflinching at you when you didn’t have any food for them - and they effortlessly swung by and you could almost hear their unanimous thoughts, ‘Get out of my way, you big non-fish that don’t belong. No food for us, what are you good for?’ Groupers were certainly not the most colourful of Caribbean reef fish, but Timmy hoped that his camera would catch their neverending sour faces and contemptuous attitude befitting a top reef fish predator. 

At the start of the afternoon, they reluctantly began their sail back to Grand Cayman, having caught a favourable westerly of 15 knots. The group was stunned to realize that they would be back in Georgetown just as the sun would slowly dip below the horizon.

While Timmy and Armie were preparing the main pasta meal down in the galley, Armie spoke up. “So, do you think it’s possible for me to do all of the meal prep for the upcoming trip?” Timmy was stunned and his mouth dropped open as he had fully expected to share this aspect of their voyage. He thought,  _ Who was this guy? How did so much perfection get wrapped in one long, lean, tanned, if weirdly mustachioed package _ ? 

Armie continued, “Yes, really, I would like to do all of the chef duties - all of the chefing. I enjoy it. And I’ve spent too much time over the last few months eating meals and drinks prepared by others.“ Seeing Tim’s wide eyes, he added, “Not that I don’t enjoy a good night out at a restaurant - but honestly, I find it relaxing. It’s something that I’ve picked up over the years. And as long as you tell me what you don’t like to eat, I should be able to plan out some meals that we’ll both enjoy, okay?” 

Tim thought of putting up a bigger protest - he felt like he should -  _ after all Armie was paying him, so he could cook as well? This was borderline crazy…  _ \- and he just opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, “Well, beats my tendency to rely on prepared food and boil in the bag curries”, he laughed. “Yes, I totally accept and I won’t even mind doing the clean up.”

Armie pushed his hand casually against Tim’s forearm, “Oh don’t worry, I’ll help with that too. Only lazy chefs forget that they too started out washing dishes. Plus if we clean up as we go along, it's not as overwhelming.”

Tim scratched the back of his noggin and thought to himself,  _ Cripes, it’s really too bad this guy is married with kids. What a catch _ . But, whoever it was that was looking out for him right now, he decided that it was better not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Everything was falling into place. It all felt a little too easy. Deceptively simple and free. Timmy wasn’t naturally suspicious, but his anxiety often got the better of him, in terms of trip preparation for the longer voyages. He could prepare for days, months and almost years. It was the pushing off the dock that was hard. But with the force of an Armie behind him looking after the responsibility of meals, leaving of the Caribbean, seemed more doable than ever. 

* * *

The foursome sailed home, past the east end of Grand Cayman. All of them had already dived the cathedral-like swim through at Pat’s Wall. Timmy thought longingly of his previous visits there where he managed to film the beautiful eagle rays and whip corals for his Youtube channel. This spot could always be counted to serve up some healthy schools of snappers, Bermuda chubb or jacks. He wondered if he would have time to squeeze in one last visit there before their departure. 

All of a sudden, he felt nostalgic, like he was just starting to discover what was good about these islands. Was it actually time to leave already? Well that would depend on the weather and what his passenger needed. He sighed...maybe one day, he would return for another, longer visit under different circumstances.

Normally, Timmy didn’t like coming back into port dodging reefs as the sun set, but he had done this sail back to the Yacht Club so many times over the past few months and the route was so well marked, that they easily pulled into the berth by 8:30 pm. 

Voices called out of the darkness to them. Did they have a welcoming crew? “Daddy! Daddy you made it!” cried two high-pitched voices. Timmy saw Armie’s face light up in surprise followed closely by a wave of irritation crossing his brow. 

Armie turned to the group, “My family is here. I didn’t expect this. I mean, I didn’t expect my kids to be here. It’s past their bed times.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	7. Preparations Hammer-style and a Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More trip preparations and getting to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a weird week in the fandom, so here’s your weekly distraction. I promise, they’ll leave the Caymans in the next chapter, so thanks for hanging in there.

**Preparations Hammer-style and a Surprise**

The next few days were busy for both Timmy and Armie as they made themselves ready to leave Georgetown. They kept in touch via text message and FaceTime and Armie discovered that Timmy was big time into using emojis.

Timmy was kept busy doing some last minute boat projects and kept his eye on VentAdvance to see which days would make the best weather windows for their departure. 

And then there was the “checking out” of the Cayman Islands, which was almost, but not quite as complicated, as checking in when travelling by the sea. Timmy looked on-line on Midisite to see what the checking out process was - because it varied at each Caribbean port of call. Basically, once they knew their sailing date, they had to contact Customs five hours in advance and then get Immigration clearance, also no more than five hours in advance. Thankfully, he was able to confirm this by phone with the part-time consular agent in Georgetown; otherwise, he would have had to get in touch with the next nearest U.S. embassy, in Jamaica.

Then there were the appointments to get their CoVid19 PCR tests. Both of them would get their results by email. Neither of them was worried about the possibility of having the virus or being around those without symptoms, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Plus, when they were on the water, the US government could change the rules for entry.

Due to CoVid19, both Timmy and Armie had to obtain a VISA from the American consular on Grand Cayman, because they would be arriving back to the States via private yacht. Armie, like any self-respecting citizen, nearly flipped out when Timmy informed him of the VISA requirement. 

“We need a VISA to enter the country where both of us were born? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” he said incredulously. 

Timmy rubbed his chin and added woefully, “Well, it’s a new rule, due to this crazy virus. Not only is this a new rule, but hopefully, we don’t have to pay for it. If we do, well, consider it as a cash grab by our lovely Customs people.” Armie sighed. He was once again beginning to think that this trip was turning out to be much more complicated than flying. 

Timmy laughed, “At least the boat is registered in France. I can check in and drop you off in Miami. It turns out that I actually can’t STAY there, because the U.S. is restricting recreational yacht movement in its coastal waters. I may have to check out and go north to get a cruising permit for the east coast of the States”. He swore, “I can’t believe that I may have to travel to Georgia to get a [fucking?] cruising permit.” He shook his head, “I’ve never seen anything like it. We are truly living through some interesting times.”

He then shrugged his shoulders. Stupid pandemic or not, he needed to go home to New York. Sort out the boat ownership. See his family again. It had been well over a year since he had seen his parents and Pauline. And although he checked in with them regularly on-line, it was just not the same as being there in the flesh. He knew, once he was back, that staying with his parents would get old quite fast, but he could always get back on the boat if he needed some alone time. 

* * *

Later that week, Armie texted:

> A: Wanna go food shopping?

> T: Yeah sure, but since you are “head cheffing” it, maybe you should come by, drop off some of your stuff and I could show you what I already have before we go provisioning. 

> A: Provisioning?

> T: Yeah, another sailing term. Laying in the stores, provisioning the boat for passage.

> A: OK.

Armie showed up the following Wednesday afternoon with a duffle bag and a notepad. He might love his phone, but the man was also kinda old school too, noted Timmy. He showed him the pantry, the hideaways in the lounge seats and in the floors where the excess canned and dry goods were cached. 

Armie was impressed. There was enough room on board to easily stock food for six months or more. He was perplexed by the canned goods; all of the labels had been removed and each can was marked with big black letters or initials. 

“What the heck is AH, that’s my initials?” he asked.

“Artichoke hearts” said Timmy.

“Canned artichokes? You must be crazy,” objected Armie.

“Well, yes, I prefer fresh or the ones in glass jars. But glass doesn’t travel well, so, yes, I do settle for canned vegetables at times. A good rinse is all that is needed,” defended Tim. “Here, I’ve got a glossary,” and he produced a listing of all of the canned goods for Armie. 

Armie’s eyebrows travelled a little further up his forehead. “You’ve categorized your canned goods? Why not just leave the labels on the cans?”

Timmy smiled, knowingly, ”Yes, that would be much easier and occasionally I get lazy and do that, particularly if I’m going to use the can right away. But, the thing is that if the can is under the floorboards and gets wet, the labels are the first thing to fall off and then I have no idea which can is which. Also, the really gross thing is the roaches have been known to lay their eggs between the label and the can. And I REALLY don’t want cockroaches on the boat, do you?”

Armie slowly nodded, beginning to understand. “No, of course not, not my kinda roach.”

Timmy smirked and continued, “So yes, it's just this thing that us cruisers do, we remove the labels and mark the top and sides of the can with permanent waterproof marker. Once I use the can, I crush it for recycling at the next port and I write what I’ve used on this running list. I know how many of each item I have, so I know what I have left and what I need to stock up on the next time I’m able to shop. Yes, I know it’s a bit much, but it saves me headaches in the long run.”

Armie scratched his head, “No, it makes total sense, you can’t see all your supplies without a regular pull-out pantry, that’s for sure.”

Timmy breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad that Armie didn’t think that his organization process was too nuts. He’d arrived at it through a process of trial and error and while he had been living on the boat, he’d seemingly become a total King Shit of spreadsheets.

Right then and there, Timmy made an executive decision. He’d have to trust Armie - this humongous guy with his spiky hair and skinny, funny moustache. And if Armie wanted to be in charge of the provisioning and the food prep, he was going to let him.

“Look,” said Timmy, “I just got this phone call a little while ago, that I’ve received a parcel here in Georgetown. Can we swing by the courier office before or after our food shopping to pick it up?” Armie nodded his assent. “Okay - you poke around in the galley and let me know when you’re ready to get going.”

After a while, Armie emerged from the galley clutching his notepad and pencil and sat down opposite Timmy.

“Do you like pizza, Timmy?”

“What kind of question is that? Yeah, of course, but it’s all about the right balance of cheese and spice.”

“Oh you like spice, eh? Spicy italian sausage work for you?” Armie said with a bit of leering smile.

“Bring it on,” said Timmy. “Hot peppers and sriracha make everything taste better.”

“Pineapple on your pizza? How about it?

“I’ve been known to let a pineapple or pear take up residence on a pizza or two. As long as the cheese or cheese blend works, I’m good. Pear, brie and walnut pizza is something that my Dad would make for our family when we were in France,” Timmy smiled in wistful remembrance. Armie’s eyes widened and his eyebrows started crawling upwards.

“Yeah, you’ve hit on my one secret food snobbery. Not a secret anymore, I guess,” Timmy admitted with a grin.

Soon after, they bundled into Armie’s rental truck, stopping by the courier office first. Inside Timmy was amazed to see two medium-sized boxes with familiar left-slanted writing. _Boxes from Will_? _What had he sent him_? Timmy racked his brain, he couldn’t remember Will mentioning that he was planning on shipping anything to the Cayman Islands. But the boxes were definitely addressed to Timmy. They weren’t heavy and with each of the boys taking one box, they easily fit them in the back of Armie’s truck under a tarp. They then headed to Foster’s at the Airport for provisioning.

Armie had his comprehensive shopping list and Timmy relaxed in the knowledge that for once, he didn’t have to be solely responsible for all of the shopping. He was happy just to don his face mask, push the cart and retrieve what was needed. He did manage to deviate from Armie’s list to add a few extras - popcorn for movie nights, red liquorice candies and some milk chocolate. His sweet tooth would not and could not be denied. He could almost see Armie’s smile from underneath his face mask, but he didn’t offer any commentary. 

Their last stop was Jean Cudi’s Wine and Spirits on Frank Sound Road. There, Timmy let Armie go to town. And if he felt like they needed some new stores of gin, vodka, triple sec and the like for the trip and he was paying - who was Timmy to object? Check. Local Black Tip lager? Check, check. They both agreed on a few more bottles of white wine over red wine and they argued over their favourite red grape. Timmy laid out a passionate plea for Pinot Noir and Armie laid out his case for the ubiquitous Cabernet Sauvignon, while ultimately settling on a few Argentinian Malbecs for the trip. Check, check, check everything off that list!

Timmy was gratified - no amazed - in how comfortable he was feeling with this stranger. Well, not a stranger -- he was rapidly just becoming Armie. 

While Armie was unpacking the food and loading up the pantry and the various food cubbies, Timmy decided to open the mysterious boxes from Will. He had checked his emails and text messages again, just to make sure. Nope, no help there.

He opened the smaller, heavier and flatter box first. It was full of hooks, climbing carabiners, what looked like a flexible playset swing and various solid metal attachments. _Had Will been planning to go climbing at some_ point? _That didn’t make much sense in the Caribbean._ _Had Will been planning to have sex with someone_? Wait a minute...

Timmy then opened the second larger and lighter box. There they were - he caught his breath and swallowed hard. Will had remembered. He pulled them halfway out, the bright emerald green silks shone under the interior LED lights. Silks for aerial work. The fabric was shiny and new. They smelled of promise: they were perfect.

On top was a note that read:

> Dear Tim: 

> Hope this package finds you in the Caymans. I know that you said that our priorities for our shakedown cruise around the Caribbean involved saving as much money as possible, but since I was home, I thought that it was high time to treat my Captain to something that will make you happier than diesel fuel!

> Can’t wait to see you wrapped up in these sailing above the Cat. So consider this an early boat-launch anniversary present. See you soon, 

> Will

Timmy burst into tears. Will knew that he needed a physical outlet to burn off excess energy while underway. Now he could rig up the silks and fly overhead while on-board. _Damn, could have used these a few months ago._ Nonetheless, his sobs got louder and he noisily cried without embarrassment. 

Armie stuck his head up out of the gallery and slowly came up the stairs. 

“Yo, Tim,” his voice trailed off when he saw Timmy with his head on the table. When Timmy lifted his face, Armie saw that it was streaked with tears.

“Are you okay? I was gonna ask you…but I can ask you later...”

Timmy put up his hand to pause. He choked back a sob, wiped his face and heaved a few sighs. 

“Sorry man, I just need a minute. Can you give me a second?”

Then, without waiting for a response, he pushed away from the ottoman and instead of going to his own cabin and having to slide past Armie, he fled down the port side to the guest quarters into one of the heads. 

He took his time, composing himself, splashing some water on his face, before returning topside. He stared into the mirror. _This guy was going to think that he was a weirdo_ . _Fuck that and if he doesn’t understand, then fuck him._

_He could do this. It was time to go, in more ways than one. He would never forget, but it was time to move on. Will would have wanted that. Time to set sail._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. 100% fiction, of course.
> 
> 2\. Commercial, brand names and trade names have been changed....except where they have entered common parlance.
> 
> 3\. Thanks for reading and commenting!


	8. Are we there yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they push off and start their adventure!

**Are we there yet?**

**Friday June 19, 2020**

The day dawned clear and bright as usual on Grand Cayman. Timmy was convinced that today was the departure day. They had their negative CoVid19 test results, the engine oil had been changed and they were provisioned to the gills. All that remained was fueling and official stamping of their documents. 

Due to cost, the Cat’s satellite connection had been programmed to accept calls, download emails and texts from noon-1 pm CST. His YouTube Patreons and family would be able to track his progress. However, his regular YouTube subscribers had just been enjoying his videos from Jamaica as he was a few months behind in his editing. Being off-the-grid while sailing Caribbean passages was no big deal.

And speaking of his videos, initially, Armie had wanted him to sign an NDA, to which Timmy had countered with his own NDA and heavy implication that he would be leaving Grand Cayman by the end of the weekend with or without him. With that, Armie had agreed to back down. They had finally agreed on two stipulations. Timmy’s filming for his channel would be primarily confined to filming scenes under the water and externally on the deck of the boat. Timmy, the boat and ocean scenes would be the primary subject and all other scenes involving Armie would be heavily edited. (If at all possible, Timmy would be filming Armie from the waist down). To Timmy, this was a pain, not only because some of Armie’s best features were from the waist up, but editing out his torso and blurring his face would take time. 

Stipulation number 2 was even stranger...Armie wanted him to refer to him on-camera as “Doug”. Not Doug Hammer, just Doug and only Doug. Timmy felt this was kinda strange, but heck, if it kept Armie as a paying passenger and deckhand, Doug it would be. He asked Armie, “Why Doug?” 

“Well, Douglas is my middle name, so I may actually respond to it. Plus, it’s what some of my friends from high school still call me on occasion.” Timmy could relate, to sometimes wanting a different name. Armie must not have been the easiest name to grow up with, not to mention the last name. Okay, Timmy thought.  _ Doug, Douglas, Doug-ass. Whatever you want darling. He could doug-it. _

They were ready to leave, but Armie - Doug - had explained that he’d been roped into this food bank fundraiser for the next day, but that they could cast off immediately afterwards. He had even invited Tim to come and watch - with a promise of free drinks. 

Tim, for his part, had heard about the fundraiser on local Caymanian radio. And while the cause was admirable, doing a workout to raise money seemed like an unlikely throwback to the ‘80s. In a bit of a sulk, he (politely) declined and resolved to spend the extra day in his editing suite. Might as well use the time wisely. Maybe, if he was  luckyluckily , he could edit and post his video about Puerto Rico that same day.

* * *

**Saturday June 20, 2020**

Timmy rose early and visited the coffee shop to grab his last land-based beverage and upload his video. He had texted Armie -  _ no, DOUG _ \- arranged to move the Cat and meet him at the fuel docks by 1 pm. Timmy also had a quick call with his sister in New York. He told Pauline about his upcoming trip and his mysterious passenger. She was reassured when he told her that he had an email ready to go with Armie’s real identification details and that it would be sent to her after they cast off. After his continued reassurances, she let up on the grilling. Timmy had been away at dance camps and dance schools all throughout his teenage years. She sometimes could be a bit of a mother hen at times but ultimately trusted that he knew what he was doing and that he could take care of himself. 

Timmy was finishing up the topping up of the diesel tanks, spare canisters and gasoline containers for the dinghy. They might not be planning to use the dinghy for the next few days - but it was always better to be prepared. 

He was waiting for Armie - and more particularly his credit card - to pay for the fuel. At 1:30 pm, he screwed up his eyes and covered them from the sun with his hand as he saw two slim figures in the distance approach. One was definitely Armie in faded light blue shorts. The other was a scarily-thin brunette who looked like a gust of wind could blow her away. Was that his wife? Tim hadn’t actually met her when they had pulled in before. It had been late and dark and Armie had scurried off quickly. He idly wondered if he was going to rate an introduction this time around. He leaned back against one of the dock piers and watched.

Even from a distance, Tim was a keen connaisseur of non-verbal interactions. Chalk that up to a life time of performance training. Arme looked like he was ready to fling himself off the dock and start swimming for the Cat. He stopped fiddling with some plastic headgear and gave it back to the long-haired woman. Finally, with a look to the heavens and a gesture towards the Cat, Armie broke loose and lumbered down the dock with a backpack over his shoulder. Definitely no mushy departures there.

Timmy proceeded to jump up the side of the yacht and swing himself up onto the side deck. He wisely decided to say nothing about what he observed, instead putting out his hand for Armie’s knapsack, offering “Here, let me take that.”

Armie extended the bag to him. Timmy grabbed it from him and placed it on the captain’s chair, to be out of the way. He then grabbed the shrouds for balance and extended his hand saying “Grab my hand, it ‘s easier than stepping up.” Armie reluctantly grasped his hand and Timmy pulled him on-board without incident. 

After paying for the fuel, with both of them working together, Timmy switched on the port side engine and the yacht gently pulled away from the deck for the last time. Timmy looked back to see if Armie’s wife was still watching from the fuel dock. But she had disappeared, as if she had never been there. 

They untied the buoys that had been protecting the starboard side and stowed them in the front lockers. The Cat gently moved through the Channel. After clearing the Channel and with no traffic ahead or behind them, they hoisted the jib, then the mainsail and shut off the engine. They did it. They were on their way.

* * *

Timmy was excited. He hadn’t told Armie but he had set a course to come somewhat close to the southern shore of Cuba, where there were some marine refuges. His master plan was to turn off the radar and satellite connection for a day or so to allow them to get close enough to shore to do some more diving. After all, they had plenty of time. The Gulf Stream was a reliable current and once they rounded the westernmost part of Cuba, in no time they would be flying to Florida. He’d had to wait an extra day. He knew Armie didn’t have a set flight booked. Surely Armie wouldn’t mind an extra day above and below the waves? 

* * *

Armie lay back against the pillows piled at the top of the bed. He had unpacked and laid out his clothing in the closet and cubbyholes for the next few days. Finally on his way. Finally free of the months-long stress of being back on Grand Cayman and too much time with Elizabeth.

They had planned out their separation announcement for the next month, after he would be breaking the news to his mother in person. He magnanimously was allowing her to be the one who would drop the news first. After he reached the mainland, first a visit to his mother to confirm the separation and his finally coming out as being in love with Henry. He wasn’t looking forward to the visit, but it was necessary. Then, he and Henry would re-unite and they would have the rest of the summer together in private. They would start to be seen in public as friends slowly but surely. There was no need to officially come out. Due to the pandemic, there wasn’t going to be any walking the red carpets or award shows in person in the near future anyway. And they’d been long-distance for a long time. Armie wasn’t planning on proposing any time soon, but there was no else for him. 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, thinking about the opportunity to spend some quality uninterrupted time together. To not be pushed and pulled about on different continents for their filming careers. No continual juggling of time zones would be a dream come true. He couldn’t wait. Years of managing a secret long-distance relationship would be firmly behind them. 

He wasn’t worried about his children. They’d met Henry, when he’d had to be in LA for filming. And when Armie had had to be in the UK, they’d all spent time together. They were secure enough in their attachment that they wouldn’t be shocked when Armie started to openly express affection with him, beyond the hugs and casual kisses they’d already witnessed. No, the children were not going to be an issue.

After his short recharge, he hopped off the bed and pumped his hands to the sky - or at least to the room’s ceiling - he really couldn’t extend his arms all of the way! He had better watch that; there was precious little head room, let alone arm stretching room when standing. As he passed through the head, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He’d finally shaved off his facial hair, thank god. For months, it has been his protection and shield against his wife, who was not above trying some last minute liberties of planting a kiss or two on him, especially when they were both with their children. He knew how ridiculous it looked on his Instagram. But it had worked. She hated it and over the past few months, it had kept her away from him and at arm’s length while they were trying to perfect their co-parenting interactions. Even though the divorce and separation was mutual, old habits were just that. Old, hard to break and died hard. 

But as he peered in the mirror, he was glad his hair was rapidly growing back. The kids had found it amusing when he decided to shave his head and that had all been part of the co-parenting formula. Elizabeth had hated it too, which had been a bonus. But Armie didn’t care, his hair grew so fast. In no time, it would be back to an acceptable length for press interviews and more importantly, breaking the news to his mother. 

He bounced on his feet while exiting the cabin. He hoped that Tim didn’t have any objection to him blasting some celebratory music through the sound system and out onto the ocean. High time for a drink and a toast to Neptune! 

* * *

After several hours at sea and flying at an acceptable clip, Armie had taken up his station in the galley making pizza dough for tonight’s meal. He glanced up, seeing the light change through the window and felt the yacht turn and slow down considerably. It was only 4:30 pm, too early to stop by any means. 

Tim bounded down from his position at the helm and scooted into his cabin, without a word. Armie stood there, wondering what was going on. In a few minutes, he re-emerged, shirtless, but with black neoprene shorts on, with a small plastic box in one hand. He beckoned to Armie “I’m gonna need your help with this, can you come up on deck with me?” and bounded up the stairs in perpetual motion. Armie wiped his hands of the flour and dough, untied the frilly kiss-the-cook apron and followed after him. 

Tim had grabbed the Go-Pro camera and was pulling the covers off one of the seats in the outdoor lounge. He pulled out two hand scrapers - one metal oversized spatula and one that looked like a plastic squeegee for cleaning a shower stall. He then went forward and retrieved a spare line and what looked like a fabric harness. He lifted up his arms and slipped the harness - or was it a sling? - on his long lithe body. Tim in a harness - Armie tried not to smile - what was not to like about this? 

Tim turned to Armie, seemingly not noticing Armie’s state of not breathing, “So, there one more boat chore that I need to finish up before we really get moving.” Armie tried not to stare too hard as Tim started clipping the line onto the harness. “I need to get under the hulls and scrape any excess algae and buildup from the keels. I didn’t want to do this before back at the Yacht Club because the water there is pretty gross. And depending on the amount of growth below, we can maybe pick up an extra half knot or so of boat speed.”

Armie slowly nodded his head in understanding. “But I’m gonna need your help. I’ll be clipped onto the boat and I’ll be working from stern to bow, but I’ll need your help to move my safety line periodically and reclip it before and after the shrouds, so I don’t get tangled up. I’m going to be wearing these ear plugs - he held up the plastic box filled with silicon circles - so I won’t be able to hear you very well. But you should be able to hear me. This shouldn’t take too long, and then we can be on our way. Okay?”

Armie agreed, now seeing the big picture. The sooner they got to Florida, the better. Back to Henry - he was all for it. 

He followed Tim out to the deck where he showed him the clip on, clip off, clip on routine. No problem. He could do this, with a drink in his hand, for sure. 

Timmy walked towards the starboard sugar scoop and sat down, turned away to don his mask, snorkel and small fins. Armie half-yelled, “Why the ear plugs Tim?” 

“Oh, that’s just a precaution. When you’re removing debris, you can also remove a barnacle or two or other kinds of invertebrates. Let’s just say that I don’t want anything taking up residence in my ear canals.”

Armie lifted his eyebrows. As a parent, he had to suffer through Harper’s ear infections. This made total sense. He was continuously impressed with Tim; he had really thought of everything. 

* * *

Tim strapped on the Go-Pro camera and made sure that it was filming. He was going to film the entire cleaning process. Finally, he donned some gloves and winked at Doug - remembering afterwards that he couldn’t see it - then gave him a thumbs up and slipped off the stern of the catamaran. The waters were cooler, without a full wetsuit, but it was a refreshing change to the heat of the day.

It had been some time since he had scraped the boat. Jamaica had actually been the last time, when it had gotten hauled out, sanded out of the old paint and carefully applied new bottom paint. It had been his and Will’s first paid sponsor - the anti-foul paint company. They were a relatively new marine supply company and the Cat was a relatively new YouTube channel. But the company had been environmentally conscious and progressive. They had obviously figured out that the bottom-loving members of the queer yachting community and general sailing community could intersect, so it was all good. Everyone loved a smooth bum! 

And with anti-fouling paint regularly going for $600-$800 per can, Will and Timmy were truly grateful for their financial support. This would be the paint’s first real test, as the boat had been sitting in the water for several months without any attention. It had looked okay on their weekend trip, but he hadn’t had time to really pay it any close attention. This was actually one of the boat chores that Timmy didn’t mind. It was easy and he got to practice his breath-holds at the same time. 

He started and was pleased to see that the green gunk was easily removed with his hands and the plastic scraper. The new anti-fouling paint was amazing...their faith in the company was now justified and this would definitely increase their viewership. His viewership, he shook his head, reminding that it was now up to him to get those videos out sooner rather than later.

* * *

Armie could hear the slow but steady progression of Timmy along the starboard keel. After about 10 minutes, Timmy had tossed the metallic scraper up to him, saying that he didn’t need it, a huge grin on his face. 

He was paying attention and moving the safety lines absentmindedly as he sipped his second beer of the day. He would miss the local Caymanian lager. He would miss spending extended visiting time with his dad and his wife, especially after he, his wife and children moved out and moved onward from their too-small condo. The extended visit had definitely allowed Harper and Ford more time to spend with their paternal side of his family. They definitely wouldn’t have had that if they had stuck to the original plan to return to L.A. after Easter! He was already looking forward to facetiming his children tomorrow, it would be so strange not to be tucking them into bed tonight. They were growing so fast. The last few months had been a boon in terms of spending quality time with them.

As Tim finished one of the keels at the stern - he yelled up to Armie, “Okay, time to switch over to port.” Armie looked up and saluted in recognition, then grabbed the line and started moving it over. He thought of asking him how it was going, but Tim couldn’t really hear him. Plenty of time for that later.

The scraping continued at a slow but steady pace, with Tim’s deep snorkel breaths periodically interrupting the lapping of the waves against the Cat. Armie chugged his beer and followed the line up the port keel and down again. 

Armie was leaning against the gel coat, the part where the interior deck met the exterior. Fascinated, he watched the flight of several gulls and terns that had been following their passage from Grand Cayman. It was amazing that they were flying without rest. Armie wondered how long the birds intended to stay with their boat or whether they would eventually go their own flight path. Were they going north to Florida with them? He gazed out at the sea and the beginnings of a rosy sunset, lost in his thoughts, He didn’t realize exactly when the scraping sounds stopped. Suddenly, despite the occasional bird song, it seemed quite quiet.

He woke from his daze in a hurry, hearing an indistinct sound, then a garbled yelp and then a yell from near the stern. Tim was calling his name - calling for him - and the yelling steadily increased in volume. He dropped his beer, watching it land in the water and hustled back to the port sugar scoop. By then, Tim was screaming in pain. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry about the melodramatic ending, but I couldn’t resist.
> 
> 2\. Comments are the life blood for this beginning fiction author. Thanks!


	9. First Night, First Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy recovers with help from Armie. Then, they feast!

**Saturday June 20, 2020 - continued**

Armie hurried to the back of the yacht, his mind seizing up with panic. It didn’t sound good, at all.  _ What the hell was going on? _ He knew he’d been day dreaming, but he hadn’t been that neglectful of what he’d supposed to be doing.  _ Had Tim been attacked by a shark? _ _ Would there be blood in the water? _ Everything had been going so well.  _ He should have been paying closer attention _ .  _ What kind of First Mate was he? If something happened to Tim, how were they supposed to go on? _ _ Would they have to turn around? _ _ God, he didn’t know first aid. Shit, he should really take some courses _ . All these thoughts and more came flooding into his brain as he leapt towards the stern.

He called back to Tim and saw - luckily - all looked okay and there were no apparent problems in the water, other than him flailing around in pain. He looked pale, but unhurt. He was tearing off his fins, throwing them, his mask and snorkel onto the desk, joining the sling and plastic scraper in a heap. He was breathing hard. Armie, pushed down the swim ladder towards him and tore off his shirt, preparing to jump in the water.

Tim saw Armie’s approach and screamed, “No, don’t go in the water!” Armie caught himself, just in the nick of time, before he pitched his body off the boat. He righted himself, bent down in a crouch and extended his hand to help Tim climb the ladder. But Tim, shaking his head, said “Wait, don’t touch me….” with a garbled sound that Armie couldn’t make out. He finally reached the top of the swim ladder and stepped onto the sugar scoop steps, wincing in pain. Tim lifted the fresh water hose and lifted it up to rinse off his head, followed by his shoulders and chest. He ran the hose back and forth and again. Finally, he tore off his gloves, threw them onto the pile and rinsed his hands. 

It was then that Armie saw that red welts were starting to appear on Tim’s chest, back and throat. Tim asked him, “Do you see any more stingers on me?” Armie grabbed the shower head from him, beginning to catch on, and said “Turn around.” He dowsed his chest and then motioned him to turn once more as he rinsed his back again. Armie said, “I don’t see any tentacles on you. You’re clear. How’re your legs?” Tim responded, finally with a more normal voice, “They feel fine” and then he started laughing, somewhat hysterically, “Fuck.”

“Oh shit. Tim, I think you were stung by a jellyfish. What, what else can I do to help? Oh, I know. Kneel down please.”

Timmy fell to his knees on the top of the deck. He was in too much pain to argue. His legs were still working and felt semi-steady, even if most of the rest of his body felt like it was on fire. But, sitting down felt like the right thing to do at that particular moment anyway, even as tears were streaming down his face. He couldn’t stop them and they fell easily. He didn’t try to wipe them away. He continued moaning, as that seemed to help with the pain, as had the fresh water. He blinked and looked up at Armie waiting.

His mouth flew open, as he saw Armie drop his swim trunks to his ankles and move closer to him with his cock in his hand.  _ Holy crap, it was fire-hose thick and what was going on? _ His mouth automatically dropped open.  _ This was no time for a blowjob. What was going on? Wait - was he going to….No. Yes. No _ .

Armie said “Hold still. I’m going to pee on you, the urine should help with your pain.”

Timmy put up his right hand - to stop him from getting any closer ( _ he couldn’t actually believe that he was pushing him away _ ) and started heaving with laughter, despite the pain. “No, no, no…..please no. It won’t help.” 

With that, he leaned back on his heels against the side of the boat. He looked up - way up - into Armie’s earnest, well-intentioned, but totally goofy face.  _ Did he really think that this was an episode of Friends or something?  _

Despite half-crying and half-laughing, which actually was helping his pain, he choked out “Could you go boil some hot water and grab some face cloths or clean dish towels. I need some hot water compresses...not your pee.” 

Armie stopped short. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Timmy started smiling. Armie’s face turned beet red. He unceremoniously tucked his cock back in shorts and turned away to hastily pull up his shorts and turned away, but not fast enough that Timmy got a tantalizing quick glimpse of a well-muscled, pale rump, sprinkled with the just the right amount of light brown hair.

He backed off and asked, “You’re okay, you’re okay, for me to leave you?”

“Yes, yes, Armie. Can you go put on the water and grab the first aid kit for me? Do you remember where it’s at?” 

Armie crossed the lounge area with his long legs, wryly looking back after him, before ducking inside. 

“Armie - I’m gonna be fine.” He leaned back against the deck still laughing at what had transpired. But he quickly pulled away from the side of the yacht as the extended lean seemed to set off the pain still emitting from his skin. 

_ Gawd, life was so fucking random. They were so far away from shore, where jellyfish typically congregated. Just his luck to somehow get stung in the middle of the ocean. Everything happened to him! Could have been worse, of course, but right now, he couldn’t think of how it exactly would have been worse.  _

Tim put his head on knees and tried to concentrate on what he remembered about jellyfish stings. But it was hard work thinking about anything except the pain throbbing from the lines on his torso. He looked down at his chest and saw 2 lines rising up in a criss-cross pattern. He supposed his back was looking the same. He felt a bit nauseous at the sight, but fortunately, he had had nothing recent to eat, or else, he just might have heaved it up. 

Armie came back with the first aid kit and Timmy hastily swallowed a Tylenol 3 and grabbed his book and checklist to verify that hot water compresses were just the thing. He looked up and saw the concern reflected in Armie’s blue eyes, which seemed darker than normal. He put out his hand on Armie’s knee, reassuringly and said “Thanks, I’m a sight. Could have been worse though”, smiling weakly. “On the plus side, the keel is almost completely clean and we can get back on our way.”

Armie shook his head vigorously, “I don’t care about that, just that you’re okay. I don’t know what would have happened if you…” his voice trailed off. 

Tim wrinkled his nose, “I’m gonna be fine and those hot towels are going to feel nice. Better than your best airplane towel service.” He started getting to his feet when Armie grabbed him under his arm, pulling him to his feet. “I may need some help tonight on the night watch. I think we’re going to just have to play it by ear.”

They entered the inner lounge and Timmy stretched out on the day bed. When they were (finally) ready, Armie applied the warm towels on his chest and then Timmy turned over and got the same treatment on his back. 

Timmy groaned in relief as the compresses seemed to pull the pain from his skin. With the magic hot towels and the pain meds, he started feeling more like himself. He lay down for about an hour, as Armie busied himself in the galley, breaking off his meal preparation, with one change of Tim’s compresses. Timmy drowsily drifted in and out. After some time, Tim felt Armie’s large warm hand on his shoulder, gently rocking him awake. He felt the hand travel slowly from his shoulder up towards the back of his neck as Armie leaned his body towards him and softly whispered, “Tim, are you awake - dinner is ready - are you okay to eat something?” 

Tim’s nose detected the unmistakable smells of basil, cheese and fried food. Despite moving slowly due to his throbbing torso, his stomach was more than ready for food. He changed into different shorts, turned on the keel lights to shine in the water, grabbed a beach towel and a yoga mat from his quarters before joining Armie on the foredeck He skipped sitting up in the soft upright chairs in favour of rolling out the yoga mat and beach towel on the trampoline. Flopping down lengthwise on his stomach, he gratefully looked at the tray and the veritable feast that Armie had concocted for them.

First up was ‘Ti punch - a simple rum punch with lime juice and cane syrup. Timmy wasn’t sure drinking was the best idea at this point in time, but anything that could lessen his pain was welcome. They started with fried crab cakes with juicy papaya salsa on the side. Armie had (incredibly) found his Old Boy seasoning and had liberally added it to the crumbs. The cakes were made only appetizer-sized bites, but there were so many, they added up to a sizable first course. 

Then came several individual personal pizzas as thick as his thigh. Armie’s had sausage and mushrooms, while Timmy’s was a simple Margarita, painted with large splashes of mozzarella, basil and oven-dried tomatoes. Timmy hadn’t had homemade pizza that good, since Will and he had visited the pizza boat anchored off the U.S. Virgin islands. He was in the middle of telling Armie about their visit there, when Armie abruptly got up and said that he had to go FaceTime his kids. 

Armie went inside the lounge, while Timmy was still absentmindedly chewing one of his slices, savouring the delicious contrast between the spicy sauce and the perfect crust. Suddenly, Armie yelled through the transom windows, “Tim, what’s with no internet connection?”. Timmy sat up, confused, tossing aside his crust. “What do you mean, we’re off grid, Armie. Remember?”

Cursing emitted from the blond giant, which partially carried out to the foredeck. Tim, feeling relaxed due to the strong rum punch, rolled his eyes and continued on devouring the last of his pie. Armie stuck his head outside, with a calmer, but higher-pitched voice, “You mean, no internet whatsoever, for the next few days?”. 

Timmy sighed, “No, we’ll have a satellite connection for one hour each day at noon. You can knock yourself out with sending and retrieving emails, phone calls, checking your social media feeds. $300 per hour - so you were okay with one hour every day. Didn’t you tell your family about this?”

Armie, rubbed his chin, now remembering this conversation. Yes, they had talked about this, but it really hadn’t computed at all. It had been so long since he had been away from wifi, he couldn’t even remember. He hit his head and groaned.  _ Fuck, his kids were never gonna forgive him. _

“Okay - I will send the ex - the wife - I mean I’ll prepare an email to explain the situation to the kids.” He shook his head at the absurd situation, that could have been easily avoided, had he been paying closer attention. 

Tim nodded absently, more preoccupied with finishing off the delicious punch than taking an active interest in the state of the Hammer marriage. He stretched out again on the hammock listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the boat as they continued to slowly move northwards. He might have to put up with a moody First Mate, but at this rate, he would surely gain weight on this voyage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. 100% fiction, of course.
> 
> 2\. Commercial names have been changed, except where they have entered common parlance.
> 
> 3\. Comments definitely appreciated for this beginning fiction writer, who is slowly learning how long each chapter should be in an optimal world!


	10. Aftermath, Aftercare and Visitors!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of day 1 and the start of day 2

**Aftermath, Aftercare and Visitors!**

  
  


**Saturday June 20, 2020 continued - Cuba lies to the North**

Timmy had been chased inside by some mosquitos. Before flying to the safety of the interior lounge, he had hoisted the main sail and turned off the underwater keel night lights, which picked up their speed to get them back on track. Quarantine had reduced the amount of passenger and freight shipping world-wide, and he knew that for once his small craft wouldn’t be dodging massive-sized luxury cruise liners in the night. He silently gave a small prayer that CoVID19 had finally killed the cruise line industry and if so, he could live with that. Perhaps, this signaled a return to the heyday of smaller, wind-driven passenger ships, just like his.

He had changed into some soft comfy pajama pants and had retrieved a small cube containing aloe & lanolin lotion. Standing in the lounge, Tim was currently engaged in smearing it onto his chest where his skin was still clearly marked with a long series of red spots from each jellyfish tentacle. The aloe and lanolin crème wasn’t fancy, but it was hitting the spots - all of them! He groaned in not-so-silent release from the throbbing. 

Armie stuck his head up through the pass-through to see what was making Tim illicit such groans: groans that could be heard over the sweet sassy musical grooves of Prince’s “Kiss”. Tim was dancing around while putting the lotion on his neck and chest. His voice where not-so-subtly competing with the late musician’s musical groans. He was on the verge of laughing at the sight - since only Timmy could make applying skin lotion such an effortlessly intriguing event - when Tim caught sight of his mug down below. He stopped dancing and said, “Hey, can I get some help here?”

When Armie joined up upstairs, Tim tossed him the tin and said, “Can you do my back? This is really doing the trick...or else it’s just that rum punch kicking in!” He stopped grooving and put his hands on the side of the sofa to steady himself.

Armie put a sizeable amount of the thick unctuous salve in the palm of his right hand. He looked at Tim’s back, swallowing hard at the visible tracks that marred his pale, but sculpted torso. He slowly - too slowly - started applying the lotion at his rotator cuff, noting the places on his neck where Timmy had been able to reach. His ministrations slowly traced and followed the red tracks on his skin. 

Armie knew - he knew - that the marks had been made by an errant ocean invertebrate - but it happened to make the most perfect crisscross pattern - a little more pronounced where the sling had been snuggly wrapped around his body.

He started with a featherlight touch and then gradually increased the pressure when Tim responded with a moan of satisfaction as he progressed downwards. “Yes, get all of my back - that’s good - continue please.”

Armie continued slowly, paying attention to where his large hands were moving. The welts seemed to fade with each pass of his hand and before he knew it - he flashed back to the time when he had first tied Henry up in a rope chest harness before they had some mind blowing sex. His hands stopped moving of their accord, as he smiled to himself, remembering that special evening. Afterwards, Henry had also sported red marks from the rope, his heavy breathing and their sweaty exchange due to the time spent in the restraint. Let’s face it - neither of them had had much experience with this sort of play. It was all part of a beautiful experiment.

Tim’s voice brought Armie out of his revelry. “I think you missed a few spots towards my bottom.”

Armie flushed - glad that Tim couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t sure if he was getting turned on because of the memory or because the redness on Tim’s back was an almost perfect replica of what he had experienced or both. _Oh shit_. “Sorry, yeah, just a little more.”

He turned back to tracing the redness and applied some more lotion to minimize it, but not so much that Tim was slippery with excess. He covered all of the red marks and pushed down Tim’’s loose pants ever so slightly just to make sure that he had attended to all the stripes where a touch of salve was needed just below the waist band.

The blond man stepped back and admired his handiwork. Tim’s back was definitely paler than before. Unconsciously, he wriggled his pert little bum as Tim quipped, “So much better….thanks buddy,” holding his out for the lotion. 

Armie handed it back to him, “Yeah - that should help. Let me know if you need some more help reapplying again.”

Tim turned to him, and he couldn’t help if his eyes twinkled. “Sure thing. Now, you had better get some sleep. 04:00 am is gonna come real quick. I’m feeling good enough to take this night shift.”

They had arranged to do formal 4-hour crew shifts - but really it was approximate and dependent on their individual energies. Right at that particular moment, Tim was feeling more zen than he had anticipated - maybe it was the (almost) lethal combination of a cheese-heavy dinner, rum punch and Armie’s hands. He was feeling like he was simultaneously floating and heavy in all the right places. He was drowsy and awake enough, so that he didn’t have a care in the world. No problem. He could do anything.

Armie turned in and Tim shut down the music flowing through the speakers, connecting his headphones and switching to his “Night Passages” playlist. He pressed shuffle and drifted off on the daybed with one headphone over one ear and the other free to listen to any possible changes in the flapping of their sails.

* * *

Before he knew it, he felt Armie’s large, warm paw on his shoulder slowly rubbing him awake with Armie’s breath in his ear, calling his name, bringing him back into consciousness. He rolled off the daybed and verified that they were still headed to the waypoint marked on the navigation software.

He reminded Armie to wake him up, if they reached the waypoint before his next shift. In the meantime, he swung down the stairs to draw his cabin curtains and get some real shut eye in his comfy bed. There was just enough breeze coming through the window screens to keep the air moving through his room, but not too much to keep him awake. Timmy drifted off in somatic bliss.

* * *

**Day 2 - Sunday June 21, 2020**

Timmy woke up at 09:30 am, feeling refreshed with an additional 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep. He quickly showered and changed into a white tank top with his favourite baggy, but not too baggy, candy cane striped shorts. He remembered to rub on a combination of SPF with some more of the aloe and lanolin lotion. He examined his striped torso in the head mirror and decided, yep, that this would definitely be his skin care regime for the rest of the passage.

He emerged from his cabin feeling grateful to have had an-almost normal sleep on the voyage. Armie was sitting in the captain’s chair outside, reading a book.

Tim smiled up at him. “Good morning! So your watch was pretty uneventful, I guess?”

Armie looked up guiltily - he hadn’t even heard Tim come out on the deck, he’d been so engrossed in the novel that he had found on the communal bookshelf. 

“Yeah, morning. Yes, all went well. The wind stayed pretty consistent, died down a bit after you went down, so there wasn’t much to do. Want some breakfast?”

“Of course. Yes, I am actually hungry despite last night’s amazing dinner...”

Armie jumped down, hiding his book under his arm, replying “Hold tight, coming up.”

Before Timmy could properly comprehend what was happening, Armie re-appeared with a large platter for him and set a place for him beside him at the outdoor lounge table. First there was coffee kept piping hot by carafe, then a large glass of mango-orange juice. This was followed by warm, creamy scrambled eggs with hot sauce and ketchup available on the side. He had even made a stack of thin crepes that Tim could fill with fresh fruit filling - mango, star fruit, banana and papaya accented with a lime and ginger syrup. Tim happily topped his crêpes with Nutella, brown sugar and simple syrup. 

Armie sat there observing him dig into the feast, eventually joining with a second breakfast to clean up the left-over scrambled eggs and one last crêpe. He watched Tim emitting unconscious sighs of delight throughout his gobbling down of the feast. He loved when people appreciated his culinary skills. Armie loved the prep work and even doing the dishes as he went along, helping make everything go so fast. If cooking paid better and standing on hard surfaces didn’t wreak havoc on his back, he might have decided to open up his own restaurant one day. But he knew that cooking for loved ones was quantifiably different in scale and commitment than doing it on a professional basis. No, acting had been a much better choice for him. He got to travel and eat in restaurants the world over - and all on someone else’s dime. Best to keep his culinary dreams to himself.

Tim finished his plate, pushing himself away from the table, with a burp escaping by accident. He hoped that Armie would take that as a compliment. He glanced over at the tanned man with a smize, “That was amazing. Thank you. By the way, I never thanked you for your kind offer to pee on me yesterday. It was...it was really - well, I did appreciate it. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Armie blushed up to the roots of his still-too-short hair. “All right, all right, we don’t have to talk about me being an idiot.”

“Oh yes, we do. I’m a New York Jew, we gotta hash out everything, don’tchaknow? And I did appreciate the offer - I know it came from a good place.” He paused, twisting his mouth to the side, “I’m just really glad that you didn’t freak out so much and jump in the water after me; that you were able to hear what I was saying and listen. That’s important. So well done, you.”

Armie’s blush got a little darker, “Well, yeah, I hope I can follow as well as give directions, when needed. Must be all my acting experience. Hitting the marks.”

“Well, yeah, we have that in common. So I’m good. You?”

“All good.” His blush started fading slightly. He actually did appreciate Tim’s gentle acknowledgment of what he had done right in what could have been a shit show. He picked up the blue ukulele that he had brought outside with him. He started strumming absentmindedly and softly singing, “With the rising sun, three little birds by my doorstep….this is my message to you….every little thing…. don’t worry about a thing.”

Tim was amazed, was there no end in sight of this guy’s talents? Wow. He didn’t even mind that Armie was using Will’s ukulele...he must have found it in the port side guest cabin. He was going to comment on that, when he heard something else outside that caught his attention. He abruptly stood up, “Oh, yeah, cool. Yeah, bring that to the front of the boat. I’m grabbing the camera….we’ve got visitors!!!”

Armie cocked his head, “Hunh?” Timmy whirled around, ducked inside and emerged with his video camera with the wind sock. He shrugged and followed the decidedly excited Timmy as he danced over to the bow near one of the princess seats. 

Timmy pointed at the surface and said, “There they are,” and Armie realized what he had heard. A small pod of spotted dolphins were riding their bows and surfacing with a chorus of arrhythmic blows. Timmy turned on his camera and started filming. They were slicing in and out of the wake and occasionally turned their whole bodies to watch the humans with goofy smiles on their faces. Armie wished he knew more about them.

Tim said, “So cool, I never get sick of this.” He knew that the smaller, mottled grey ones were the youngsters, with only the adults developing spots as they aged. He then lay down and slung himself over the edge of the crossbeam to get closer with his lens. 

“Woah. Hold up, Stretch. Let me, I’ve got a longer reach.” Armie nudged Tim.

Tim pushed himself up and handed him the camera which was still rolling, “All right, Doug, do your best.” Armie took up the position abandoned by Tim and leaned most of his torso over the crossarm. Armie, swiveled his head back. “Ah - just in case, can you sit on me for ballast?”

Timmy looked at his long limbs…. _Should he straddle him? Where to sit? That dip in his back? The shapely calves? His humongous feet? That perfect butt?_

He caught himself and gently lowered himself sideways on his thighs. _Cripes, he really needed to get his head out of the gutter. The guy was married, remember? Gawd, it was beyond time to get laid._

After a while, Armie said “Okay - I think I got some good footage” as he scrambled back to an upright stance and handed the camera back to Tim. 

They both perched on the matching princess seats and silently watched the dolphins as they dove in and out of the water, until they finally veered off without any warning. Furtively, Tim took a still picture of Armie looking out peacefully at the morning scene. 

Timmy said, “I’m going to get our coffees. Let’s sit out front here and enjoy this beautiful morning. A dolphin visit is special.”

Armie asked him, “Can you grab my sunglasses if you’re going back inside?”

“No problem.”

Armie retrieved the abandoned ukulele and set up the comfy foam cushions for sitting. Timmy pulled on a sun shirt, grabbed a broad-brimmed hat and then returned with freshened coffee, sitting down beside him. Armie returned to his strumming and they were just silent for a while. Timmy didn’t recognize the song that he had been playing, but it had a soothing melodic line.

After a bit, Armie spoke, “Oh yeah, Tim, I was going to ask you something.”

Timmy looked over at the long-legged man, whose eyes were hidden by his shades. He seemed a bit restless, squirming in his seat. “Go ahead.” 

“Well, um...now that you’ve kind of, um….accidentally, seen all of me….. would you mind awfully….I mean. Would you mind if I didn’t wear clothes on the boat sometimes?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sooooo - this is what happens when this author actually makes a chapter outline and sticks to it - you get a longer chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> 2\. Much love to my lovely betas monetsberm83 and trashfortimmy for always catching where my brain skipped ahead of my fingers or vice verse.
> 
> 3\. I am creating a playlist and would like to highlight the eclectic music that inspired and will be featured in this story. If anyone is interested in helping, please hit me up on tumblr (also cancmbyn). 
> 
> 4\. Your lovely comments are always definitely appreciated and bring a smile to my face.


	11. Surfing their way to Isla de la Juventud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy panics. Armie panics. They hang and it’s all gets better.

**Sunday June 21st - Surfing their way to Isla de la Juventud**

Armie was squirming beside him: the question still hanging in the air. “Would you mind if I sometimes went nude on the boat?”

Timmy snorted his coffee up his nose and down the wrong way. He started choking, eyes automatically watering and coughing his lungs out. Holy hell - he nearly spit out the coffee all over himself and Armie’s faded blue shorts. _What? Had he heard that right? Armie wanted to strut about the boat naked?_ He continued coughing - trying to get his windpipe under control.

Armie, seemingly not disturbed at all, casually glanced over with just a hint of a bemused smile threatening to break out, “Are you okay there, Tim? Need some help?” He leaned over and started pounding the other’s back for him, like a little kid. All the while, he was laughing inwardly at Tim’s reaction.

When they had both (somewhat) composed themselves, Armie looked over and said, “Well, yes, that was a serious question. I’ve just been stuck in the Caymans for the last four months and I have a bad case of shiny, white butt. Look at this - no opportunity for nude sunbathing at all,” he slid over, rolling his hips away grabbing at the waistband of shorts, pulling them down just far enough so Timmy could see the prominent tan line.

Timmy inwardly sighed, having calmed down enough to take another sip of this coffee. He gazed out over the water, hoping that they would catch one last glimpse of the dolphins to distract them from this discussion. 

_He remembered the couple that they had transported from Dominica to St. Kitts and Nevis. They seemed perfectly nice - Dave and Tonya - until the second day of the trip, when they both showed up for breakfast wearing sun hats, sunglasses, full jewelry and their birthday suits. Timmy’s plate of scrambled eggs had nearly gone flying all over the lounge area._

_Not that he was a prude or anything, but there’d been no warning. And Timmy was not a morning person. Had he been fully awake, he might have noticed a bit earlier, that they were only wearing big smiles while waiting expectantly for their meal. As it was, Will had taken control of the situation, slid onto the lounge seat and politely, but firmly, had asked them to return to their cabins to don some clothing. They had laughed and protested after Will’s speech explaining their no-nudity policy - all in the name of safety and hygiene. They finally capitulated after he strongly suggested that they wouldn’t be fed by Tim for the rest of the trip - they had grumbled, slithered back down to their cabin and returned in more appropriate attire. Needless to say, it put a damper on the start of THAT trip._

_But Will wasn’t here and Timmy would just have to suck it up and deal with Armie’s request. Armie with the long, tanned legs. Armie with the perfect face stubble. Armie with the tan line accentuating that bum. I mean if he was Armie, he couldn’t blame him for asking about this, could he? And maybe, this would be good - get himself out of this rapidly, developing crush - and shock him back to reality. He inwardly sighed, took a deep breath and said:_

“Well, what did you have in mind?” hoping his voice did not actually sound as squeaky and loud as it did to himself. Armie turned to him, but with his infernal sunglasses on, it was impossible to see his eyes.

“I thought that I might block out some time to try to even out this tan, at some point on this trip.”

Tim latched on, “So just sunbathing outside? Like here?”

Armie took a sip of his coffee, “Of course. What did you think? That I wanted to walk around with no clothes on all the time. You’d never get any filming done that way, right?”

“Oh. Okay - just here - maybe for a set time each day?” Timmy’s heart rate started approaching his normal, relaxed rate. 

“Ah….Umm. Well, I guess so. Just out here on the trampoline, on a towel. Don’t worry, not on the chairs or lounge furniture or anything. Any spots we’ve been sharing.” Armie’s voice trailed off, now he was starting to sound like a real goofus.

“Okay great.”

“Sounds fine. Good. Okay. Anything else we should be discussing there...now, Tim?” waiting expectantly.

Tim looked up sharply. And then down again. He took one last sip of his coffee to get the last dregs and buy him some time.

“What do you mean, Doug?” Timmy began.

“I saw the way points you marked on the navigation software, Tim. Why are we headed to Cuba?”

“Oh. That.” Tim tried to sound casual.

“Yeah. That.” Armie was having none of that.

“Ah, well, you don’t have a set date to be back in the States and I’ve never sailed here...it seems a shame to pass up visiting some of Cuba’s protected natural areas,” holding his hands up helplessly, appealing to the clouds in the sky for something or other.

Silence. Truthfully, Armie didn’t know what to say. _He knew that he’d made Tim wait an extra day before leaving the Caymans. But visiting Cuba, as Americans, during the pandemic? His whole team back home would kill him if he got thrown into a Cuban jail. He could see the headline now: ‘Armie Hammer causes an international incident: State Department declines to intervene.’_ “How did you imagine this working out anyway?”

“Oh,yeah. Sure - no problem.” Timmy scrambled to his feet, clutching his coffee mug, extending his hand to pull Armie up with him. “You’ll see, this is gonna be great.” Tim had lost all shyness, “C’mon, you can’t believe where we’re gonna go,” wide grinning, his face adorned by those sparkling glow-light eyes. He dragged Armie to the indoor salon, pulled out his iPad and sat them next to the nav software screen.

They spent the next hour or so hashing out the details of the covert visit over the next day and a half. Isla de la Juventud, then Maria La Gorda, before rounding the westernmost part of the huge island, staying offshore just as much as necessary before joining the Gulf Stream to take them back to the swamp that was the USA at the moment. 

At first Armie thought, “This is crazy.” After about ten minutes, he was bowled over with Tim’s enthusiasm and the possibilities of diving in places where he was unlikely to visit any time soon. Fifteen minutes in, he was convinced; he fell for the plan, hook, line and sinker. After all, who could resist an excited, passionate Timothée Chalamet?

Once they’d finished talking, Tim reminded him that they would only have the next hour or so of internet connection, before completely going off-grid. Tim retired to his office and Armie retrieved his iPad and went out on deck to read his emails.

After dealing with (too much) junk mail, Tim settled into his chair to read the latest missive from Pauline. As usual, she did not disappoint:

**Lil’ bro,**

**Still recovering from the shock. I can’t believe that you’re sailing back here with Armie Hammer. Armie Hammer - the undisputed King of indie pictures? What the hell? How did this happen?**

**Everyone knows he was cracking up in the Cayman Islands - had you even looked at his Instagram or checked him out @ all before you let him on your boat? Wow.**

**Anyway, you’ve got to give me the inside scoop. PLEASE find out all about his upcoming projects. Who’s he working with and why. We’ve got a couple of new projects coming up that he might be perfect for...if we could get him.**

_(_ At this, Timmy rolled his eyes. _Pauline had definitely been the right Chalamet sibling to take over his uncle’s production company.)_

**I need to know everything. And while you’re at it, find out what you can about the state of the Hammer marriage. Rumours have been flying for a while that they’ll soon be crashing on different shores.**

**But don’t you crash, Timmy. Stay safe and enjoy the sail with the GG-nominated Final Portrait actor, okay?**

**Can’t wait to hear all the** **deets.**

**Love, Paulie**

**PS: Mum and Dad say hi - they are loving lockdown a little too much….if you know what I mean. Ick.**

Armie’s emails consisted of a few from his agent and publicist, a sarcastic email from Elizabeth (yes, she could disappoint his children, yet again, on his behalf) and a large email from Henry. He opened it, his stomach sinking, remembering their last uneasy call:

**Dear Armie: I’m sorry that we can’t talk in person. But I need you to know that I’m done. We’re not working out.**

**I know that this is not what you hoped for. It’s not what I hoped for either.**

**All of this time apart has allowed me to do some thinking about the two of us.**

**And here’s the thing - I just don’t feel forever about us. I wish I did, but I don’t.**

**And that’s not gonna change, even when you’re back here. We’ll just go through another honeymoon period, but we won’t get to the real stuff, which is we’re not fundamentally compatible.**

**We should have broken up a year ago - but I was too much of a coward. Having great sex, liking dogs and eating too much sushi does not make for a long-term relationship.**

**So, darling Arms - I am letting you go. Off to where you need to go, where you need to be. Off to be with someone else, who is better for you than me.**

**Please don’t try to contact me. I won’t be changing my mind. I’m leaving LA, so we can have a clean break. I’ve returned all of your personal stuff to Nikki (he wasn’t that surprised when he got the call).**

**I know that you’re going to go on and make someone else happy. And I will be happy for you after we get over that awkward stage, because we’ll likely be running into each other in the future.**

**Take care of yourself and please go on with your plan to come out to your family. You owe that to yourself and to them, you big lug.**

**Henry**

**PS: Archie has missed you more than you know. But now he can pee on YOUR leg soon.**

Armie read the message again. And again. Three times to be sure. _This can’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. Nooooo. What was the date on the email?_ It was sent yesterday right as they were pushing off from the dock. 

He was in shock. _No. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t true._ A band was tightening around his head, which started pounding. His mouth was dry. _He was completely and utterly fucked._ He leant his head down over the table and let the tears flow. _All their plans. All his plans. His whole world was gone. Over. Collapsed into a large gaping pit of nothingness, that he was never going to get out._

He couldn’t believe this was happening. _How could Henry break up with him in a fucking email? He didn’t even have the guts to do it face to face? What kind of fucked up shit was that?_

He jumped up and started to pace. _Maybe he could swim home._ _He was pissed off enough._

Tim emerged from inside, intent on getting a fishing line or two cast off for the day, stopping short when he saw Armie pacing around, doing circles on the boat with a crazed, wide-eyed look on his face. 

Armie stopped during one of his circuits and said - nearly yelling at Tim - “Do you have anything I can break? Anything that I can pitch off the boat right now? I really need to do something…”. He stopped his rant - because Tims eyebrows had catapillered as far up on his face he’d ever seen. 

Tim’s mouth opened. Then closed. He didn’t know what to say. Armie was in a state. A state of what, Timmy wasn’t exactly sure. “Um, no….not really. What’s wrong?” ventured Tim, somewhat timidly. Actually he wasn’t certain he really wanted to know what was eating Armie. Whatever it was, it didn’t look or sound good. Armie’s face was beet red, on the verge of purple, and it wasn’t from lack of sunscreen.

Armie announced, with a dramatic flourish, “I just got some bad news. Some really bad, horrible, never-gonna-recover-from-it news…..AND I’M PISSED,” raising his voice yelling out into the uncaring Caribbean sea. “Got anything to punch?....I can’t believe it. Two and half years of my life down the drain!” He went to the top of the port-side sugar scoop, put his hands on his hips and screamed out into the blue yonder, “FUCK. SHIT. DAMN. ARGH.”

By this time, Timmy’s eyebrows had returned to an almost normal level on his face. _Guess now is not the right time for fishing._ Armie wasn’t pissed at him - rather at the whole wide world. Ah yes, he had the perfect solution. He started rummaging around in the aft-side benches and found a length of rope, with knots and a clip on it, somewhat similar to the sling that he wore, when he was cleaning the bottom of the yacht. He slung up to the captain’s seat, checked the autopilot, their VMG and position on the chart. _Yes this would be perfect._ Tim grabbed a pair of thick scuba gloves and clipped the rope onto a hook near the starboard swim ladder. 

He yelled to Armie, “You’re pissed, hunh? Wanna go for a ride?”

Before Armie could fully comprehend what was going on Timmy had flung himself off that back of the Cat, holding onto the rope. He was being pulled along in the boat’s wake and he started yelling “Yee-haw!” He dove up and down or rather, he was tugged up and down, twisting and turning. He couldn’t fight the waves and eventually had to go with the flow. Eventually, after a good five minutes of being thrashed about, he clawed his way up the rope and managed to make it back to the boat. Armie hauled him up the stairs and started yelling at him, while Timmy sat there, catching his breath looking like a drowned rat.

“What the hell was that? Were you practising drowning or something?” said Armie, in a somewhat more normal tone of voice once Timmy was safely on board again.

Timmy just laughed at him. He removed the gloves and pushed them into Armie’s chest. “Your turn. Put’em on and try. And feel free to scream to your heart’s content.”

Armie shook his head, “No way - you’re nuts.” 

Timmy taunted, “ Just try it. What have you got to lose? You’ll like it.”

Before he knew what he was going, Armie was donning the gloves and stepping towards the rope. Timmy moved closer to him and stuck his hands on the larger man’s hips. “Wait, one last thing. Are your shorts on tight? You don’t want to lose them now, do you?” He smiled, removed Armie’s sunglasses and tugged at his shorts to see if they would be easily pulled down.

Armie, surprised, moved to step back, but then realizing that he was off-kilter - had to take a step towards the dripping man. “Yeah, Um. Thanks. I think I’m good,” bending down and quickly slipping into the foam, making sure that he had a firm grip on the rope. 

The ocean was colder than expected, with no wetsuit, as he was swiftly pummeled about in the wake. It was like riding a water slide with no end in sight. He soon found a somewhat comfortable resting place lying on his back, once he realized that he couldn’t fight the swift current, he relaxed with the water rushing over his shoulders and occasionally over his head. 

He resumed his scream therapy. “ Fuck you Henry. You asstwat. You were a lousy Superman” were some of the things that may have featured prominently as he tried to shout it all out. He screamed out as much as he could, until he couldn’t yell out any more because he kept on swallowing saltwater. It was exhilarating, frustrating and silly all at once. _Much better than stomping around on board like an overgrown toddler._

When he started to get chilled, he crawled his way up the rope to the sugar scoop, where Tim was sitting, patiently watching his meltdown. The dark-haired man put out his hand to help him crawl back up the steps, where they collapsed beside each other.

Tim looked at him, amused, “Better now?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. 100% fiction of course. 
> 
> 2\. Boys and girls, just to be clear, no one is recommending what is done in this chapter. This is a story, not an endorsement for hanging off a moving sailboat, sailing off-radar or off-book and entering another jurisdiction’s waters without proper approvals.
> 
> 3\. Your comments, as always, are greatly appreciated. Thanks so much!


	12. Small, but unexpected things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sailing, fishing, and their first movie night.

**Chapter 12 - Small, but unexpected things**

**Sunday June 21st - continued**

Armie tugged on his shoulders, moving his arms back and forth in the shower stall, swinging them from side to side. He was rinsing the salt water off from the wild ride off the back of the boat and wryly thought, _oh yeah - I’m gonna feel that tomorrow_. He shook off the thoughts of having been stretched out on a medieval torture rack. It had been unexpected, with Tim fearlessly jumping off the back of the catamaran. But many things about this trip were turning out to be unexpected. 

So chalk this up on the list of things that kept surprising him: visiting Cuba, going on a wild ride, being dumped by Henry. He sighed, to keep from crying. He was single (at least in his heart) again. He couldn’t imagine starting over again for anyone, anytime soon. At least, not until he’d had a proper chance to come out to his family, a step that had been a long time in the making. The upcoming divorce and his sexuality - it was high time to deal with both monster issues with his mother. 

He had already spoken to his father and step-mother on Grand Cayman. They, actually, hadn’t been as surprised as he had thought. Although he didn’t see them in person very often, they had privately noted the obvious deterioration of his marriage by changes in his social media postings. Having already met Henry a few times already, when he had finally broken the news about his sexuality and their relationship, it hadn’t been as unexpected or as painful as he had anticipated. His father knew that he was far too headstrong to be talked out of anything, once his mind was made up. No, his dad had been reasonably supportive and had even wished him well with his quest to break the news to his conservative, bible-thumping ex-wife. He had actually appreciated the heads up because, no doubt, Michael Hammer would receive a lively, half-hysterical call from his ex-wife, after the fact. Yes, he wished his son luck on that endeavour.

Armie breathed in some of the relaxing orange blossom and jasmine shower gel that had been supplied on the Cat and decided to put the thoughts of coming out to his mother to another day. Besides, he was starving and they were definitely overdue for some lunch.

* * *

Timmy’s shower was shorter and much less contemplative. The impromptu dip had aggravated the burn of his jellyfish skin abrasions. While the freshwater rinsed out the salt, it was also slightly agonizing. He hopped out of the stall much faster than normal, looking forward to the forthcoming application of aloe and lanolin cream. 

He changed into fresh shorts and reapplied the lotion to his chest and neck. He hiked the neck of his t-shirt up so it functioned like a crop top. Hopefully Armie wouldn’t mind reapplying the lotion to his back. 

He exited the cabin and started rummaging around the galley for a likely lunch for both of them. He had just pulled out an avocado and tomato, but hadn’t made much progress further, when the shadow of Armie loomed over him.

“Hey - move outta here...remember I’m cheffing,” exclaimed Armie, nudging Timmy over by his hip. “I’ve got lunch plans for us.” Timmy was happy to acquiesce, rubbing his audibly grumbling stomach, “Okay, hope it’s a fast one.” Before he left the galley, however, he handed the taller man the lotion, “Can you please reapply to my back. That salt water did a number.” 

Armie was only too happy to comply. He thought that he was only chuckling to himself as he heard Timmy’s happy groans with each pass of his fingers. He noticed the right side of Tim’s neck that sported beauty spots that he could trace in a line, like a living paint-by-number. Armie didn’t even notice that he was laughing audibly during his ministrations. When he was done, Timmy - being a little put out - turned back to him and quipped, “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering there brother. Remind me to laugh at you, when you bash your head on something or other.”

Armie looked up, “Was I laughing? Um, I was just enjoying the sounds that you make when I apply the lotion. They’re musical. I just might have to make a song up about it later, “ with a teasing tone. “Anyway, your lunch will be served shortly. So go relax, you.” 

And before he knew it, Timmy was served some wraps stuffed with spinach, roasted sweet potato, black bean, topped with avocado-cilantro-hummus dressing, accompanied by a green salad and a citrus-carrot crush smoothie. He’d never figured that Armie would be into gourmet vegan fare, but obviously, he’d seriously underestimated the actor’s culinary skills. _The man definitely had his uses, all right._ _He might have to persuade him to write down some of the recipes before the end of the trip. Or find some way to kidnap him to be his own personal chef. Hmmn_.

Armie smiled because Timmy was at it again, unconsciously humming his approval of the lunch and devouring it with gusto. Armie didn’t need words of appreciation - Timmy had already said it all.

* * *

The Cat slowly inched closer and closer to Isla de la Juventud, the large island off the southern coast of Cuba. Timmy had clued Armie into the fact that it had actually been settled by folks emigrating from the Cayman Islands. Happily for them, the human settlements were actually located on the northern portion of the island, closer to the main island. Much better for them, as they were unlikely to run into any Cuban authorities that way.

They anchored the boat a fair ways off from the coast, just to be sure and took the dinghy loaded with scuba gear for Armie and freediving gear and a pointy, wicked-looking speargun for Timmy, They intended to visit several promising spots that Tim had marked in the nav software.

As they drew closer, it became evident that most of the shore was covered in mangrove swamps, so there would be less steep drop offs or cliff walls to explore. But there was much more of a chance to find some lobster, large fish or shrimp lurking in darkened crevices.

The wind, although warm, had picked up and was rustling through the leaves of the black mangrove trees, which were situated on higher ground. Closer to the water’s edge, there were dense thickets of brush and red mangroves. Drawing near to the sunset, they were surrounded by bird song and occasionally heard the slap of a fish jump. It was a different world, far from the sand and hustle and bustle of the dry and settled Caymans.

Armie realized quickly that Tim would have his hands full just with his spear gun and catch bag. He quickly offered to take charge of above and below water filming. After a quick refresher tutorial from his compatriot on the workings of his camera, they slipped quietly overboard into the dark and mossy green waters. 

Armie quickly and quietly sunk to the bottom and then started doing some concentric circles to point the camera in various nooks and crannies, hoping to find something delectable for Tim to shoot for dinner. Timmy took his time, slowly diving up and down and staying for as long as he could at the bottom, watching intently for movement out of his peripheral vision. He forgot entirely about Armie filming him, as he was intently focused on trying to find some sustenance.

Armie marvelled (again) at how graceful Tim’s motions were, as well as seemingly effortless. He dived, hovered and occasionally flashed grins and hand signals towards Armie. He waved him over to examine various sponges, barnacles and smaller shrimps encountered on the plants and in the water column.

They tried various spots, but unfortunately came up empty-handed. While they had seen shrimp and lobster, they were far too small for harvesting purposes. It wasn’t a complete loss, as Timmy reassured him later over dinner, Armie had managed to get some excellent underwater footage. It would be an excellent addition to his channel, even if he couldn’t geotag the location. 

* * *

That evening, after another delicious, although considerably more carnivorous supper, Timmy brought up his selection of movies on the big screen tv. “You choose,” he said gleefully. “I’m going to make some popcorn.” Down in the galley, he wondered if Armie would pick one of his own movies to watch ( _likely not, for an actor, he didn’t seem THAT egotistical_ ) or whether he would be adventurous to cue up one of his European films ( _perhaps_ ).

He bounded upstairs to find out that Armie had picked two diametrically different movies. First up was an early Stanley Kubrick, “The Killing,” an old black and white racetrack heist movie. Armie explained between loud munches of popcorn that Kubrick had always been one of his favourite directors and that he could watch his films on an endless loop, there was so much to take in. This film was early in his career, but the flashes of brilliance were already there.

The second feature was the Talking Heads concert video of “Stop Making Sense,” filmed by Jonathan Demme. Armie explained, “I’ve never seen this and I’ve always wanted to. So cool you’ve got this.”

Timmy lasted through the entire first movie, but felt his eyes closed involuntarily soon after the start of the second flick. His head drooped backwards to the right over the settee and he started exhaling with breathy little gasps. Armie looked over and pulled a blanket over Tim and snugly tucked it around his body. It had been a busy day and it looked like Armie would be on the first watch that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apologies for the very late update....but I seem to almost be back on track again with this story, so hopefully you should be getting the rest on a weekly basis soon.
> 
> 2\. Yes, this is the longest day EVER. 😆 
> 
> 3\. For a beginning fiction writer, your comments are always appreciated.


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